


War Torn

by RubberDuckSoup



Category: Captain America (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers Feels, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Pining, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2019-10-22 16:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 67,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17665775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubberDuckSoup/pseuds/RubberDuckSoup
Summary: It's been a little over two years since the Snap. Thanos has been defeated and the effects of the Snap have been reversed, but not everything is the same.A Sequel to Waking Dreams. https://archiveofourown.org/works/15883974/chapters/37011945





	1. Chapter 1

_-Steve-_

Steve never thought he’d be welcome at the White House again. Not after the Accords and the unpleasantness with the previous administration. But he’s once again an Avenger and there’s a great deal of goodwill for the Avengers these days. So here he is one year to the day since they defeated Thanos and restored billions of lives, at the White House, waiting to accept a Medal of Honor.

The team is gathered in a receiving room outside the East Room where the ceremony will take place, making small talk with diplomats and military officials and waiting for the rest of the heroes of the Battle of Vormir to arrive. Actually, the rest of the team is making small talk, Steve is trying very hard to fade into the yellow brocade wallpaper. He should be better at this, it is his second Medal of Honor after all. The first was awarded “posthumously” while he was in the ice. After the Battle of New York, it was re-awarded. Steve felt awkward then too. He’d only been awake for a month and a half at that point. The former president made a speech about his “death” as if it was a piece of American history. For Steve, it was practically yesterday. He found it hard to smile and pose for pictures afterward. Luckily Tony was more than happy to take the spotlight. Steve wonders now how much of that was Tony’s inherent narcissism and how much was Tony understanding Steve’s discomfort.

Dr. Strange is doing a circuit of the room, mingling and answering questions. His profile has risen a lot in the past year. He’s popular with the press, filling the void left by Tony as the Avenger who gives the best soundbites. He recently graced the cover of _People_ as “The Thinking Woman’s Sex Symbol.” Steve has always bristled at making who someone is attracted to a measure of intelligence. Strange joins Bruce and Thor in the corner. For a moment Steve thinks he hears his name but they could be talking about Strange or even that cartoon they’re all obsessed with. Carol and Sam have cornered a high-ranking cabinet official to discuss veteran’s benefits. Clint and Natasha are doing what Clint and Natasha do at these sort of events, huddle together and make off-color jokes. Steve attempts to slip away to the bathroom only to nearly barrel into Pepper Potts-Stark.

“Pepper, hi. How are you?”

“Hi Steve, I’m fine I guess. And you?”

“Good, yeah. How’s the baby?”

“She’s great.” Pepper smiles. “Talking more every day. Very smart. Won’t nap. She’s the best.” She shows him a picture of a one-and-half-year-old with strawberry blond hair and big brown eyes.

Steve smiles. “Definitely the best.”

“Hey, Pepper!” Bruce calls to her. Peter Parker follows her through the door.

“Hi, Pete,” Steve says, surprised to see him.

“Hi, Mr. Steve.”

“Just Steve is fine, Peter,” Steve reminds him.

“Oh yeah, sorry. Ms. Pepper invited me as her guest. She said Mr. Stark would want me here.”

“She’s right. He would.” Steve kicks himself for not thinking of it. The kid looks touched. Steve hopes the ceremony won’t be too hard for him. Or for Pepper. Or any of them. They’re all missing Tony today.

Scott Lang arrives next, with Hank Pym and Hope Van Dyne. Steve has been meaning to ask Hank about his time working with Peggy, but before he can cross the room, the Wakandan guests arrive.

King T’Challa and Princess Shuri enter and are rushed by half the attendees. Steve cranes his neck to see around them. Bucky saunters past, his hands in his pockets. Steve blinks, it’s Bucky, the Bucky he remembers from before… before everything. He’s wearing the uniform he shipped out in. He’s shaved off his beard and looks to have cut his hair. He looks exactly as he did the last night they were together as just Bucky and Steve. He nods at Steve and walks over.

As he approaches, Steve sees the uniform is a close copy of the original and his hair is still long just hidden inside his hat. There’s a sliver of metal at his left cuff.

“Hi Buck, you uh…” He gestures to the uniform.

“Rhodes pulled some strings. Got the brass to send me a new one.” He looks around, his eyes shining. “We’re at the White House, Stevie.” He grins.

“We are.” Steve nods.

“It’s kind of a shanty compared to the Wakandan Palace, but it’s the White House!” Bucky turns around to take in the room. “Fuck, this is surreal.”

“I know.” Steve nods.

Bucky grimaces. “Did I just say ‘fuck’ at the White House?”

“Twice now.” Steve laughs. After returning from the dead along with all the other souls Thanos snapped out of existence, Bucky returned to Wakanda. Steve hasn’t seen much of him in the last year. Steve has done his best not to take it personally. Bucky hasn’t so much rejected Steve’s company as he's sought out solitude.

“Now that everyone has arrived we’ll start the run-through.” A staffer announces. They’re led into the East Room and shown where each of them will sit and the order in which they’ll be given the medals. They use Steve as the example of how to accept the medal since he’s done it before. He stands at the front of the low stage, facing the empty seats as the staffer pretending to be the president makes a fake speech then places the sample medal around his neck.

“We know it can be overwhelming and that the reason you’re being honored may hold some traumatic memories for you. All you need to do is accept the medal, shake the president’s hand or salute and then sit down. There will be a camera crew right there, they will only film you while you’re being honored, not while you’re seated.”

The run-through ends and the honorees are taken to the Oval Office to meet with the President and First Lady. Steve can’t stop watching Bucky who is as close to giddy as Steve has seen him since before the war. Somehow Steve has ended up at the front of the line to meet the president.

“Captain Rogers, it’s an honor to meet you.” The president grips his hand.

“The honor is mine, ma’am.” Steve would like to say more but he’s a little tongue-tied with awe.

The President moves on and the First Lady takes his hand. “She’s not just saying that. We both admire you a great deal. It must have taken a lot of courage to be honest in your position.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I’m talking about you coming out. I’m not saying that the hero of the greatest generation openly declaring himself a member of the LGBTQ community is responsible for my wife’s election, but it sure didn’t hurt.” She flashes a million-watt smile.

“Oh.” Steve rubs the back his neck. “I… it wasn’t a political statement. I just couldn’t hide anymore.” Coming out hasn’t changed much about Steve’s day to day. None of his friends treat him differently since finding out.

“It was one, whether you meant it to be or not.” The First Lady pats him on the shoulder.

Steve looks down the line to where Bucky is shaking hands with the president. Steve doesn’t think Bucky knows yet. Bucky is purposefully isolated. He doesn’t spend a lot of time online. He probably hasn’t seen the video Shuri posted to Tumblr where Steve came out as bisexual. At least Steve hopes so. He wants to tell Bucky himself. He wants to tell Bucky a lot of things.

They’re lead back to the East Room where the guests have already taken their seats. The president gives a speech about the Battle of Vormir and the sacrifices made by everyone on the stage. She mentions the others who were instrumental in defeating Thanos, who for a variety of reasons, are not receiving medals. Shuri and T’Challa declined medals for themselves but are happy to attend in support of their friends. Spider-man, of course, can’t receive one without revealing his identity. Which is why Peter is seated in the audience rather than onstage. 

The Guardians aren’t present. No one has seen Quill or Nebula since shortly after Vormir. They flew off looking for Gamora, who vanished once the Soul Stone was destroyed. The rest of them don’t care about being honored by a Terran government.

Loki was never going to be invited, despite being the one to deliver the killing blow. Maybe after the trial, if Loki is exonerated, it can be revisited, but not yet. Thor was going to refuse his medal in solidarity but was convinced it would be better for his sibling and his people if he’s seen to still be friendly to the US.

One by one they’re brought to the center of the stage. Medals of Freedom for the civilians, Medals of Honor for the current and retired members of the military. The president says something moving and true about each. Sam turns and salutes the president and returns to his seat. Bucky takes his place.

“As a member of the 107th infantry unit and later the special forces company known as the Howling Commandos, Sargent James Buchanan Barnes fought valiantly for his country. In 1945 Sergeant Barnes was incorrectly believed to have been killed in action. He is the longest-serving prisoner of war in US history.”

Steve can’t see Bucky’s face, but the tension is clear in his neck and shoulders. Steve understands now why Bucky showed up in uniform. Why he’s kept his hands in his pockets or behind his back. He doesn’t want anyone to see him, standing on stage with the president of the United States and see the Winter Soldier.

“Despite the atrocities inflicted on him by his captors, Sargent Barnes fought alongside the Avengers in the Battle of Wakanda, losing his life in the Snap. After the Restoration he fought again in the Battle of Vormir, not just for his country or his planet, but for the sanctity of all life in the Universe. Sargent Barnes, thank you for your service.”

The president places the medal around Bucky’s neck. Bucky salutes and walks back to his seat next to Steve, his face pale and his eyes starting to glaze. Steve only has time to give his knee a reassuring squeeze before his own name is called.

He half listens to the president’s words. Something about courage in the face of impossible odds. It’s mercifully short. He returns to his seat.

Pepper accepts Tony’s medal. She holds the box containing the medal, her jaw clenched as the president tells the story of his death. Steve looks out at the audience at Peter, whose head is bowed. He’s swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. Bruce is holding a fist to his mouth and choking back tears. Anger flares in Steve’s gut. It’s just cruel to do this on the one-year anniversary.

Following the ceremony, there is a brief reception. Pictures are taken. Steve doubts any of them are smiling. As they leave, Steve takes Pepper aside.

“I’m sorry. We should have told them to do this another day. Or not at all.”

Pepper shakes her head. “No, I’m glad to have gotten it over with. Nothing left to dread.”

“We’re all going back to the compound for a… For Loki. You’re more than welcome.”

“Thor invited me, but I’m not in a mood for celebrating. You guys have fun. You deserve it. I’m going to go home and hug my little girl.”

They’re escorted to the airport by the police. One of the entrances has been blocked off for them. A crowd has formed behind the barrier gates. They’re holding pictures and signs, their phones flashing. Thor is the first to step forward and go to shake hands and take pictures. None of them are really up for it, but they all follow suit. This isn’t a day of mourning for the rest of the world. It’s the anniversary of the day their loved ones came back. And they’ve come out to see the heroes responsible.

The crowd starts a chant of “We want the Hulk, we want the Hulk.”

“No guys, please, not when I’m about to get on a plane.” Bruce holds up his hands.

“Cap, over here! She’s your biggest fan.” A woman beckons to him.

Steve crouches down in front of a little girl wearing a tee-shirt printed with his shield and a red, white, and blue tutu. “Hi.”

“Look, sweetie, it’s Captain America,” her mother says.

“Really?” the girl asks, her face pinched in confusion. Steve nods. “Where’s the shield?”

“Left it at home.” Steve smiles apologetically.

“What about the uniform?”

“I don’t always wear it.” He’d opted for a navy-blue suit instead.

“I don’t believe you. Do a Captain America thing.”

“Chelsea!” Her mother scolds.

Steve straightens up and takes off his jacket. He stretches his arms. He puts his weight on his right leg and kicks out with his left, lifting himself off the ground. He twists three times and lands with a light bounce. The little girl beams and claps.

“That the best you can do?” Bucky looks over, amused.

It’s not even close to his best. “If you can do better, be my guest.”

Bucky backs up a few steps, then runs at him. He uses Steve’s leg as a launching pad and vaults into the air, tucking his legs to his chest. He rotates several times before landing to a wave of applause. His hat flew off on the first spin and his hair hangs loose around his shoulders.

“Showoffs.” Shuri joins them. “You’re as bad as my brother.” She points to T’Challa who has activated his Back Panther suit and is swinging a laughing child by the arms. He tosses the boy backward, does two back handsprings and comes up in time to safely catch him again.

“So undignified,” she says with a laugh.

“It’s really hard to resist the kids.” Steve shrugs.

After another twenty minutes of interacting with the crowd, they head inside and board the plane back to New York.

* * *

 

_-Bucky-_

They wait at the entrance to the main building of the compound. After a few moments, the door is opened by someone in an Iron Man armor. Bucky freezes, his heart beating just a little faster. He looks to Steve, who does not seem surprised by the ghost in their midst. No one does.

“Good, you’re back. The kids just started arriving, but I think we’re going to have a riot on our hands if they don’t get cake soon,” the person says in what is unmistakably Tony Stark’s voice.

“Peter is picking it up,” Bruce says.

“How’d it go? Was Pepper there?”

“She was.” Bruce nods.

“Is she coming to the party?”

“No, it’s a tough day for her.” Bruce walks ahead and the iron suit follows behind.

“Did she bring Amy?”

“No, but she showed us pictures. Amy is adorable.”

“Come on, Buck. I’ll show you to your room.” Steve picks up Bucky’s suitcase and leads him down a hall, then out a side door. He starts walking toward a cluster of small houses.

“That one’s mine.” Steve points to one nearly indistinguishable from the others.

“Steve, what the fuck?”

“What?” Steve turns around.

“I thought he was dead.”

“Right, I should have warned you about that. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Tony _is_ dead. That was STARK. It stands for Synthetic Tony Automated Response… I don’t remember what the K is for.”

Bucky rubs his temple. “I repeat, what the fuck?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty weird, isn’t it?” Steve shakes his head. “Before Vormir, Tony uploaded his personality and memories to the Stark mainframe. We’re still getting used to it. Peter and Loki only brought him online about a month ago.”

“He’s an AI? Like the Vision?” Even after two years in Wakanda, Bucky can’t quite wrap his head around some of the technology of this century.

“More like JARVIS.”

“Who?”

“Oh right, you never knew JARVIS. STARK is an AI, but he works more like an operating system. He doesn’t have a dedicated body. That armor was empty and STARK was controlling it remotely. He’s in our phones, and the compound’s security system, and basically anything with a Wi-Fi connection.”

“Wow, that’s not creepy.” Bucky shudders.

“It is, but it’s also all that’s left of Tony.” Steve sighs and walks on. “Well, that and Loki.”

It’s been explained to him multiple times but Bucky still doesn’t understand how Loki was reborn from Tony Stark’s DNA.

They reach the house and Steve lets them in. The exterior is nondescript but inside it feels like Steve. It looks nothing like their tiny two-room in Brooklyn. It’s how Steve would live if money wasn’t a worry. Just big enough not to feel cramped, bookshelves and houseplants everywhere, copper pots hanging in the kitchen. A drafting table sits in one corner of the living room, with a half-finished sketch of Coney Island on top.

“Guest room is this way.” Steve jogs up a flight of stairs and down a hall to a small bedroom. The bed is nearly the size of Bucky’s hut back in Wakanda. While the hut had been his choice, the western style mattress and box spring will be a treat. There’s a stack of books on the nightstand. Bucky smiles. In the old days, whenever Steve finished a book he really loved, he’d leave it next to Bucky’s bed for him to take a turn. Judging by the size of the pile, he’s been leaving them there for months.

Bucky turns down the bedspread and finds a stuffed goat sitting near the pillow. It’s hand-knit from Angora wool.

“What’s this?”

“I thought you might get homesick,” Steve says.

“Are you implying I sleep with my goats?”

“Buck, what goes on between you and your goats is no business of mine.” Steve claps him on the shoulder and gives him a shake.

“Punk,” Bucky mutters, shaking his head.

“I’m going to change out of this suit. You good unpacking on your own?”

“I think I can manage.” Bucky unzips his suitcase. Steve heads toward his bedroom. “I don’t sleep with my goats, by the way,” Bucky calls after him. He had brought them into the hut during a particularly bad storm and now a few think they can come and go as they please, but Steve doesn’t need to know that.

“Whatever you say, Buck.”

Bucky changes out of his uniform and carefully hangs it up in the closet. Wearing it again felt strange, like stepping back in time. He’s brought his field gear with him, just in case. That gets stowed away too. He unpacks the rest of his clothes. He’d packed almost his entire wardrobe and it only takes up two-thirds of the dresser. Hopefully, there’s a washing machine somewhere on the compound or he’s going to run out of clean clothes long before the one-month visit is up.

Bucky returns to the living room to find Steve waiting for him. “Ready?”

Bucky nods and they head back outside. Thor and Romanoff are only a few feet ahead of them, headed for compound’s field house and running track. There’s already a group of children gathered at the picnic tables inside the track.

A small child breaks from a table and runs toward them.

“Brother! Finally!” the child yells.

“Loki!” Thor scoops them up, throwing them into the air and catching them with a laugh.

“How was the ceremony? Can I see the medal?” Loki is only a year old but to Bucky’s eyes, they look to be around five. Thor pulls the medal from his collar. Loki examines it. “I thought it would be shinier. No jewels?”

“Sadly, no jewels,” Thor replies, ruffling Loki’s mop of black hair.

“Where’s my cake?”

“Oh no! We forgot the cake.” Thor dramatically slaps his forehead.

“No cake?” Loki’s green eyes go wide. “But it’s my birthday.” Their lip quivers.

More children have converged upon them and are adding to the lamentations.

“I’m sorry, we’ll have to have the party without cake this time.” Thor sets Loki on the ground.

“Nooooooooooooooooooo!” around a dozen young voices wail.

“Did somebody lose a cake?” Spider-man swings onto the field, holding a cake box.

“Yes!” Loki drags Thor by one hand and Peter Parker by the other to the tables. “Caaaaaaaaaaaaake!”

“Cake, cake, cake, cake.” The rest of the kids chant.

“Dear God,” Bucky gasps. “That’s a lot of children.”

“Loki’s the only one who lives here. The rest are here for the party. Let’s see… those three are Clint’s. And that’s Scott’s daughter, Cassie. You know Pete already. He doesn’t live here but he’s around a lot. And that’s his friend Ned. He’s also here a lot for some reason.” Steve points to where the older kids have clustered behind little ones. Shuri is with them and they’re laughing over something on Ned’s phone.

“And then there’s the Groots.” Steve gestures to Rocket and Groot. It takes a minute for Bucky to notice a smaller Groot standing on the larger Groot’s shoulders. The older Groot waves.

“Hey, Barnes,” Rocket calls. “You change your mind about my offer yet?”

“Still not trading you my arm.”

“Not even for shrapnel cannon? It’s really really loud!”

“No thanks.”

“I am Groot,” a tiny voice says near Bucky’s feet.

“Hey, little guy, how’s it go—Ouch!” Bucky jumps, clutching his calf.

“Aw dammit, Groot! Not again!” Rocket runs over and grabs the sapling by one hand. “Sorry! He’s going through a biting phase. He don’t mean anything by it. What did I say about biting people?”

“I am Groot.”

“Right, only with a good reason.”

“I am Groot?”

“No, ‘he looked tasty’ is not a good reason!”

“I am Groot?”

“It’s just not!”

“I am Groot,” the older one says.

“I know you didn’t bite nobody. It’s not a competition!”

“Come on, let's join the grownups.” Steve steers them toward another portion of the track.

“Tell me again why there are two Groots?” Drax tried to explain it to Bucky once, but Bucky suspected Drax didn’t really know himself and had made up most of his explanation on the spot.

“After the Snap, Rocket planted a piece of Thor’s ax handle, which was made from the other Groot’s arm. The little one grew from it. Then the first one—actually he’s the second one. We never met the first— So the second one came back from the Soul Stone with everyone else.”

“Are they the same person?”

“No, the way I understand it, the little Groot is the big one’s offspring, but the big one is still pretty young himself, so Rocket’s kind of raising them both. They’re more like brothers.”

They sit on a set of bleachers next to the track. T’Challa soon joins them followed by Romanoff and Scott.

Steve leans over and whispers, “Do you need help with names?”

“I’m good,” Bucky says. The ones who’d gone to prison for his sake, Sam, Wanda, Barton, Scott, are burned in his memory. Okay, they’d gone to prison for Steve, but Steve was trying to help him. Vision, being maroon and a robot is pretty easy to remember, and the Guardians spent some time in Wakanda while they were figuring out how to get off the planet again. The others were at the ceremony so Bucky at least knows their names.

Thor, Bruce, and Mantis start handing out slices of cake. Sitting between Steve and T’Challa, Bucky almost feels like he belongs.

“We too late?” A female voice calls from the distance. Bucky looks up to see a few more people walking in from the main building.

Thor stands and waves to them. “Val! You made it!”

The woman strides toward them and Bucky nearly drops his plate. “Who is that?”

“Valkyrie,” Steve says. “She’s a friend of Thor’s.”

“Does she live here too?”

“No, she lives in New Asgard.”

The woman is stunning. Dark hair and brown eyes with thick black lashes. Full lips that curve into an insolent smile, and her shoulders… Bucky doesn’t write poetry but those shoulders have him considering it. In another life, Bucky wouldn’t hesitate to set his cap at her. He watches as she makes a beeline for Captain Marvel, her eyes lighting up.

“Oh, okay then,” he chuckles.

“What was that?” Steve asks.

“Nothing.”

Bucky does drop his plate when the next guest comes into view. “Holy shit! What is that?”

“That’s Korg,” Steve answers.

“He’s made of rocks,” Bucky says in disbelief.

“He’s another friend of Thor’s. You’ll like him, he’s great.”

The rock man walks over to them and introduces himself. Bucky shakes his stone hand.

“Ooh, you’ve got a metal arm. That’s freaky, man. But the good kind of freaky.”

“Thanks.” Bucky laughs. Steve is right, he’s great.

The kids have finished their cake and are clamoring to open presents. Steve and most of the adults get up to watch. Bucky can’t quite believe how many friends Steve has now. It used to just be him.

Not that he can begrudge him, it’s not like Bucky has been there for Steve in the last few years. Keeping himself sequestered a world away because he's too scared of turning back into an emotionless cipher. He remembers dying, knowing something was wrong more from the look on Steve’s face than from how it felt. He doesn’t remember being dead. He knows because Steve told him, that he was trapped inside the Soul Stone, along with countless others. He remembers nothing until the moment he took his next breath on Vormir, in the middle of another battle. What had been 15 months for Steve was a blip to Bucky. He just wanted to get back to his farm and his goats and his therapy. It took another year for him to feel ready to rejoin the world. At least in small doses.

He hadn’t expected the world—Steve’s world—to be this full. Full of remarkable people. It's obvious why Steve likes them. They’re just like him. Kind and brave and generous. Wizards, aliens, and literal gods. Where does Bucky fit into that? Hell, Steve already has a terrifying ex-soviet-assassin for a friend. What can Bucky offer other than a metal arm, massive amounts of trauma, and a journeyman’s knowledge of goat husbandry?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still the same day as Chapter one. The first anniversary of the Great Restoration and Loki's first (re)birthday.

- _Steve_ -

 

The kids have moved on from presents to a Silly String war. Steve has been assigned the important task of guarding the food table from errant string attacks. Bucky is still on the bleachers, listening to Thor tell the story of how he got his ax. He’s more relaxed than Steve has seen him in a very long time. Wakanda has agreed with him.

Shuri spots Steve standing alone and joins him by the table. Steve knows what she’s going to say before she opens her mouth.

“You haven’t told him.”

“Good to see you too, your highness.”

“What is taking you so long?”

“He just got here.”

“He’s been back for a year.”

She has a point. Shuri is the only person who knows about his feelings for Bucky. Steve fell ill shortly after the Snap, and Shuri, along with Bruce and Tony, saved his life. She also coaxed out a secret he’d been keeping for eight decades. He vowed to tell Bucky once the fight with Thanos was over, but the timing was never right.

“Of course it’s none of my business when or if you tell him but I did save your life and his sanity and I’m invested in your quality of life and I’m very smart and you should listen to me. Also, I ship it.”

“Not in the food!” Steve gently redirects Cassie Lang and her four cans of Silly String away from the picnic table. “He’s doing so well. I don’t want to mess with that.”

“Yes, it may come as a shock, but you can’t treat him like he’s made of glass.”

“Why not? If anyone deserves gentle treatment it’s him. If he’s happy by himself in Wakanda, if he’s found peace after everything he’s been through, what right do I have to disturb it?”

“If he reacts badly he can come back to Wakanda and continue his treatments. He has a sanctuary. If all he wanted was peace and safety he’d still be there. He was so excited for this trip, and not because of the medal. _You_ are important to him. You’re the person he trusts most in the world. But unless you tell him how you feel, you’ll always be lying to him. He’s not cured. There is no cure for what happened to him, just ways to move on from it. He will always have Wakanda, he may not always have the chance to be with you.”

“Yes he will,” Steve says quietly.

“Aaaw, that is the sweetest, saddest thing I’ve ever heard. Are you sure you haven’t told him because you think he can’t handle it? Or because you’re worried he doesn’t feel the same?”

“Can the answer be both?” Steve shoves his hands in his pockets. When they were younger, Bucky really liked women. Steve is nearly certain that unlike Steve, Bucky _only_ liked women. There’s no reason to believe that’s changed. Steve definitely noticed him noticing Valkyrie earlier.

“Hey,” Bucky walks toward them. “Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to talk about someone behind their back, right in front of their face?”

“We weren’t talking about you,” Steve replies.

“Of course, we were,” Shuri says. “We were wondering if someone knew something about you that you didn’t, but it might be difficult for you to hear, would you want them to tell you?”

Steve reminds himself that murdering the heir to the throne of the most technologically advanced nation on the planet is suicidal. Besides he likes Shuri when she’s not actively trying to blow his world to pieces.

Bucky looks at them, his brows knit in confusion. “Oh god. Do I have a brain tumor?”

“Oh it’s much worse than that,” Shuri says with a smile.

She’s going to tell him. _No. No. No._ He has to stop her, but he’s lost the ability to make his mouth do the thing where the words happen.

“I’m afraid you’ve become a meme,” she says

“A what?”

“Look.” Shuri pulls out her Western-style phone and gives it a few taps. A GIF of Bucky appears on the screen. It’s from the airport that morning. It shows him spinning in the air and landing, his hair swishing over his shoulders like a shampoo commercial. Animated sparkles appear around his face and the word “EXTRA” flashes above him in rainbow letters.

“What the fuck?”

“You are hair goals.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Very good.” Shuri leaves to show the GIF to Peter and Ned.

“What were you really talking about? I know it wasn’t that mimi thing.”

“It was nothing.”

“Looked like something. Wait, I _don’t_ have a brain tumor, do I?”

“No.”

“Do you?”

“I don’t have a brain tumor.” But this conversation might give him one.

“Come on, Stevie, what—“ Bucky is interrupted by the sound of an air horn and the arrival of an Iron Man armor landing on the grass.

“Sorry, I’m needed over there.” Steve exhales and trots to STARK. The rest of the team follows suit.

“That’s right, assemble, my chickadees. It’s time once again to compete for the coveted crown of awesomeness!” STARK holds up a crown made of cardboard and aluminum foil.

Steve grins. He’s glad this goofy tradition has lived on even after its creator has passed.

“Not this again,” Doctor Strange groans.

Bruce sidles up next to Steve. “I’m getting my crown back,” he says.

“Good luck with that,” Steve pats him in the shoulder.

“A reminder, if you don’t live at the compound you’re competing for the crown and a reward of your choice—within reason. If you live here, you’re competing for the crown and to be exempt from cleaning the communal bathrooms for one rotation. If you choose not to compete this time you forfeit the right to compete in the next two challenges. Does everyone understand and agree to these terms?”

Everyone agrees. Tony had hit on the perfect way to motivate them to participate in his team-building exercises. They all knew Tony was lying about SHEILD not allowing them to hire a cleaning crew because of security concerns, but at least Tony was willing to take his own turn in the rotation. Though no one ever got a straight answer on why he couldn’t program one of his bots to do it.

“Right then, will the current champion please step forward?” Steve steps into the center of the circle to a chorus of exaggerated boos. “Rogers has won the last two challenges. If he wins a third consecutive challenge he will forever be exempt from cleaning the bathrooms. Are you going to let that happen?”

“Nooooo!” His teammates roar.

“Good. Should the champion be defeated, he gets an extra turn in the next rotation.”

“Since when?” Steve turns to STARK. “No one else got a double latrine duty.”

“No one else has won two challenges in a row. Okay, Avengers are you ready for your next randomly selected challenge? Will it be skill, talent, or knowledge?” STARK shakes a pillowcase.

“Please be anime trivia, please be anime trivia.” Peter bounces on his heels his fingers crossed.

“Hunger Games! Hunger Games!” Clint chants.

“Barton, you know I love your enthusiasm, but it’s never going to be Hunger Games. Okay Cap, pick.” STARK holds open the pillowcase. Steve reaches in. He’d gotten lucky with the last two challenges, swimming and knitting. Bruce had wiped the floor with him the time before that in the cupcake challenge. Not having to clean the bathrooms for over a year has been sweet. He looks at the slip of paper in his hand and grins.

“Foot race,” he reads.

“Are you serious?” Sam grouses. “Just hand him the damn crown!”

“Works for me,” Steve shrugs.

“Is this a setup? Why is it that all the ‘randomly selected’ challenges are things he’s good at?” Scott asks.

“Are you questioning the integrity of the pillowcase, sir?” STARK’s simulated voice takes on outrage. “I should disqualify you right now.”

After a little squabbling, it’s determined that there was no tampering with the pillowcase and the runners take their places on the track.

“This is purely a foot race, people. No flying, no magic, no portals, no augmentations. No shrinking or growing. Hear that, Scott? Hope? No purposefully interfering with or impeding any other runners. First person to the crown is the winner. Is everyone ready?” STARK asks.

“Not quite,” Bruce says. He looks at the crown then turns and squints at Steve, his lips curl into a snarl. The Hulk stands in his spot.

“He said no growing!” Steve protests.

“Not grow. This Hulk size,” Hulk argues.

“Fair point. Okay, on three.” STARK counts to three. Steve takes off, leaving most of his competitors behind, but the Hulk and his enormous legs outpace him easily. Steve runs at top speed but Thor soon overtakes him too. Dammit, the communal bathrooms are foul, Steve doesn’t even know how they get so bad when they all have their own homes. He pushes himself, taking on more speed, almost catching up to Thor, but it’ll take a miracle to outrun the Hulk.

A miracle or Silly String. The giant slides on a stray pile of the novelty goop. His feet go out from under him, he crashes backward, taking Thor down with him. Steve sprints past them and snatches up the crown.

“Ah man!” Clint gripes.

“Hulk almost win,” Hulk moans. Thor does his best to calm him down.

“Yeah, almost,” Steve pants.

“Well, that’s a disappointing result. Alright then, Steve as the winner of three consecutive —”

“Wait!’ Sam interrupts. “I demand a rematch.”

“Oh, come on, I won. Let it go.”

“You won against us, but I want to nominate a challenger who hasn’t run yet.”

“I’ll allow it if the challenger agrees,” STARK says.

“T’Challa,” Sam calls.

“No, no, I already have a crown.”

Steve smiles. That would’ve been a tough race.

“Alright then, Barnes it’s on you.” Sam takes Bucky by the shoulders and marches him to the track. Steve bites his lip. Bucky out ran T’Challa in Bucharest, but he did have a head start.

“Barnes, do you agree?” STARK asks.

“We need you to beat him. He gets smug if he wins too much,” Natasha tells Bucky.

“Sounds about right. I’m in if he’s in.” Bucky nods.

“Cap, do you agree?” STARK asks.

“No, I already won.”

There’s another chorus of boos.

“Fine.” Steve rolls his eyes. He sets the crown down and returns to the starting line.

“Very well, on three.”

“Three!” Steve yells and launches forward.

“Seriously?” Bucky shouts.

Steve hears Bucky’s feet pounding up the track behind him. His legs burn with the effort of keeping his lead. He can’t hear Bucky’s feet anymore that can’t be— He’s slammed from behind and hits the ground. He rolls over, Bucky is on top of him, a vengeful smile on his face.

“You devious little shit.” He laughs. “Eat dirt, punk.” Bucky pulls up a handful of grass from the side of the track and shoves it into Steve’s mouth.

Steve turns his head away spitting and laughing. Bucky twists to grab another handful, his knee grinding into Steve’s ribs.

“Ouch!” Steve gasps. “Ow! Get off!”

Bucky’s eyes go wide. He rolls off, holding his hands up. Steve springs to his feet and runs for the crown.

“Are you fucking kidding?” Bucky leaps up, but Steve has the crown.

The gathered Avengers and guests gape at them as Steve holds the crown aloft.

“Captain America cheated!” Ned gasps, horrified.

“Every chance he gets.” Bucky nods, bracing himself on his knees to catch his breath.

“I followed the rules to the letter,” Steve protests.

“You started early,” STARK admonishes.

“You said we’d start ‘on three’ and I did. You didn’t say ‘the count of three’ or who’d say it.”

“That’s true, dammit. Technically he followed the rules.”

“Every time.” Bucky shakes his head.

“You wear a crown of lies, Steve!” Bruce, who’s returned to his smaller form, rebukes.

“I’ll think about that while I’m not cleaning the bathrooms ever again.”

* * *

- _Bucky_ -

 

“Who are you texting? You got a sweetheart in Wakanda?” Steve approaches Bucky, having returned from updating the chore assignments with STARK. 

“Checking on the goats. My neighbor is looking after them.”

“Is your sweetheart the neighbor or the goats?”

“Seriously, Steve?” Bucky sighs. Steve chuckles, obviously pleased with himself.

“You know, I think I get why you like goats so much.”

“Because I’m hairy and I’ll eat anything,” Bucky says. “T’Challa has already made that joke. Many times.”

“Dinner’s on!” Barton calls from the grill. They load up their plates and head to the picnic tables.

“I still can’t get over it. Cap’s a cheat.” Peter shakes his head.

“You’ve never seen him bend the rules to get what he wants before?” Bucky asks. Do they know Steve at all?

“Now that you mention it,” Barton says.

“It occurs to me that we’ve been wasting a prime opportunity to get dirt on Rogers.” Romanoff slides in between him and Steve.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Good point. You grew up together. Got any embarrassing Steve stories?”

“A few.” Bucky smiles.

“Let’s hear it.” Hope Van Dyne scoots closer to their end of the table.

“Should I tell them about the shoes, Stevie?”

Steve shrugs. “The way I remember it you come out looking much worse than I do.”

“I want to hear the shoe story,” Wanda says.

“Okay, shoes it is. Steve wore the same terrible pair of shoes for two years straight. They were falling apart. You couldn’t even call them shoes anymore. I don’t know how they stayed on his feet.”

“Willpower and string,” Steve says.

“So I decided to get him a new pair for his birthday. I worked double shifts and skipped lunch for a few weeks. Spent every penny I had on a pair of loafers. They were gorgeous. Red-brown leather, with good stitching that wouldn’t unravel in a week. Nicest shoes either of us had seen let alone owned.”

“They were magnificent.” Steve sighs, his eyes half closed.

“His birthday rolls around, I give him the shoes, he’s thrilled. We go to a bar and he’s so happy about his new shoes, he drinks nearly a whole glass of beer. Remember, he was tiny. That’s like four glasses for you or me.”

“I was five-four, I was not pocket-sized,” Steve protests.

“You were five-two at the most, but maybe it was a glass and a half. Point is, he’s plastered by the time we head home. He can’t walk straight, but he won’t let me help him. I’m just following behind while he swerves around the sidewalk, bouncing off of fire hydrants and other drunks. About halfway home, he just gives up. Lies down in the gutter and says he lives there now.”

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t remember that.”

“You wouldn’t. Your exact words were ‘Leave me, Buck. This is where I belong.’ Eventually, I convince him his bed is slightly better than the gutter.”

“Not much better,” Steve interjects.

“Yeah, that mattress was the worst. Anyway, I helped him up, but I must have done it too fast because he...” Bucky doubles over and mimes retching. This elicits sympathetic groans from several of the adults.

Bucky can still see the horrified look on Steve’s face as they’d both realized, too late, what was about to happen.

“All over the shoes,” he finishes.

“Oh no.” Carol laughs.

“Completely destroyed. The dye ran and the leather puckered. Stevie was just miserable the rest of the way home. ‘I’m so sorry, Buck. They’re ruined. They were so beautiful and you spent so much money!’” Bucky sniffs and trembles his lip in imitation. “The next morning, I wake up to ‘Jesus Buck, what the hell happened to my shoes?’”

“He didn’t remember?” Scott laughs.

“Not a thing. So I faked a hangover and told him I did it.” Bucky grins.

Steve is staring at him, his brows knit together. “Is that really what happened? _I_ was the one who puked on my shoes? Not you?”

“Yep.”

“But I gave you crap about it for years!”

“I know, I was there. You wouldn’t let it go.”

“Why didn’t you just say it was me?”

“You would’ve tried to pay me back and you couldn’t afford it.”

“Neither could you!”

Drunk Steve was so broken up over the loss of his shoes. Sober Steve would’ve felt even worse. He’d put himself into the hospital trying to earn the money back.

“The money was spent.” Bucky shrugs. “Anyway, for the next three years, every Christmas, every birthday, I got a beautifully wrapped pair of vomit-stained loafers. As a reminder of why we couldn’t have nice things.”

The whole group laughs except for Steve who lays his head in his hands. “I was such a jerk.” He groans. “I brought the shoes overseas with me. I was going to give them to you for Christmas.”

“Of course, you were.” Bucky chuckles.

“Wow, Captain America is a petty, cheating, drunk. I think I idolize you even more now.” Scott slow claps.

Without a word, Steve pulls out his wallet and puts six dollars next to Bucky’s plate. Bucky folds the bills and shoves them in his pocket, a little surprised Steve that remembers exactly how much he spent.

“What happened to the shoes? Since you didn’t give them to Mister Barnes?” Peter asks.

“Oh, I… uh buried them,” he says, his voice catching. “I thought he was dead and there was no body to bury so I buried the shoes.”

Bucky pictures Steve sneaking off all alone while the rest of the Commandos slept. Digging a hole and doing what he could to put him to rest. Must have been lonely.

“Oof, right in the feels,” Shuri mutters.

“Way to bring down the mood, Steve,” STARK chides.

“Got any stories with happy endings?” Carol asks.

“What about when I was twelve and Patrick O’Malley pushed me into the storm drain?”

“You hit your head, almost drowned, and caught pneumonia,” Bucky says. “Where’s the happy ending?”

“You beat the holy hell out of Patrick.”

“Oh yeah,” Bucky smiles, “I did.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

- _Bucky_ -

 

Bucky has been at the compound for a little over a week. T’Challa and Shuri left a few days after the medal ceremony. Bucky was worried he’d flounder without a safety net, but it's been fine. Everyone here knows what happened to him, they know what he was. He's not expected to participate unless he wants to. As a consequence, he’s spent more time with people—spoken more—than he has since the war.

Steve has been by his side the whole time. They've gone to the natural history museum with Bruce. Shopping with Wanda. A baseball game with Barton. An opera with Vision. Last night they stayed up until 3 am playing poker with most of the group.

Today, however, Bucky is on his own. Fury called the team in for a mission. The dictator of isolated Eastern-European country has violated the borders of a neighboring country. The Avengers were asked to intervene before the situation escalated.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked when Bucky starting pulling out his tactical gear.

“I’m not going into battle in Sam’s Snoopy shirt.” Bucky had not done his laundry yet. Sam lent him some of his clothes.

“Buck, you don’t need to go into battle at all. This is not an all hands on deck situation. You’re on vacation. Relax.”

“Relax? I was gone a month and you flew a plane into the ocean. I’m coming.”

“Sorry Furiosa, but you’re not,” STARK’s voice sounded over the intercom. “This is a UN sanctioned action. You may be hunky-dory with the US government but you haven’t been approved by the UN.”

That settled it. Steve told him they’d only be gone a few hours.

It’s been four hours since they took off in the quinjet, leaving Bucky alone at the compound. Even Loki had gotten a seat on the jet. Though that was just to drop the kid off in New Asgard on the way.

Bucky is going a little stir-crazy. He’s used to solitude, he enjoys it. Usually. But this is Steve’s space and it feels wrong without him. Bucky has already finished his laundry, watered Steve’s plants, started one of the books, worked out, and eaten three meals.

Bucky can’t stand being hungry. His body metabolizes food quickly. He never got enough before being sent out on a mission. He learned to scrounge through his targets’ cupboards and trashcans, shoving anything he found into his mouth before he could be recalled. Then his face was caught on camera during a mission and they fit him with the muzzle. His handlers often “forgot” to feed him before putting him back in the freezer. He’d come out twice as hungry as when he went in. He put on 15 pounds in the first year after his escape. He hasn’t completely adjusted to unrestricted access to food.

He checks his email. His neighbor sent an update on the goats. Shuri wants to know how the visit is going and if he needs a refill on any of his meds. There’s a message from his great-niece Helen. She’s his sister Rebecca’s granddaughter. She and her kids are his only living relatives. He’s never met them, but they’ve been in contact for the last year.

His parents and other two sisters died decades ago, believing he’d gone on ahead of them. Rebecca lived into her nineties. She found out her big brother was alive when he was accused of the Vienna bombing. He got a letter from her after he was cleared of that particular crime. She wanted to see him before she died. He’d written back asking for time. He didn’t want to see her if there was a chance the trigger words were still active. She died while he was in Soul Stone.

 

_Hello Uncle James, I hope you are well. We saw the medal ceremony. Nan would be proud. I’ve been going through her things and found some letters and pictures from the war. I thought I’d ask before sending them along. I can scan and email them to you if you want._

 

 _Yes, please send them. Thank you._ He writes back.

 

A few minutes later he receives an email that takes a long time to load. The first few files are photos, chronicling family events he wasn’t around for. The twins’ high school graduation. His parents smiling in front of their first car. They couldn’t afford one when he was a kid. Rebecca’s wedding. They look exactly as he remembers them and entirely changed at the same time.

The pictures run out and he reaches the letters. The first is the official letter from the army notifying his parents of his death. Then come condolence letters from the Howling Commandos. He can hear their voices in each one. Eloquence from Falsworth. Heartfelt kindness from Jones. Irreverence from Dugan.

Steve’s letter is hastily scrawled and dripping with anguish.

 

_I am so very sorry. I don’t know if you can ever forgive me for letting him fall. I’ll never forgive myself. It should’ve been me._

 

The final letter also bears the seal of the Armed Forces. It’s addressed to James Barnes, regretfully informing him of the loss of one Steven Rogers. Steve must have put him down as his next of kin when he enlisted. He wouldn’t have had anyone else. And the stupid fucking army sent the letter even though as far as they knew James Barnes was dead. A good thing too or getting that letter would’ve killed him.

Bucky closes the computer. Why aren’t they back yet? He knows too well that a mission, _any_ mission, can go horribly, irrevocably, wrong.

He turns on the television, scrolling until he finds a news station. The coverage of the invasion is infuriatingly brief. Just that the Avengers are dealing with it.

He needs to know that they’re okay, that they’ll all come back. Or he's going to find one of Stark’s old armors, fly himself to Latveria and…

“STARK?” He’s not comfortable with that being all it takes to summon the AI, but it is convenient.

“What can I do you for, Tarzan?” STARK’s disembodied voice answers.

“Tarzan is racist, imperialist, propaganda.”

“Uh, sure, probably. Never read it. Did you want something?”

“Can you hack into SHEILD’s systems and tell me how it’s going? The Latveria thing?”

“Of course I can, but I don’t need to. I’m there right now.’

“You’re there?”

“I’m eeeeeeeeeeverywhere. Spooky isn’t it?”

“Is everyone okay?”

“We’re good. Fighting a bunch of robots. Nothing we haven’t dealt with before. Want to see? I can patch you into my helmet camera.”

“You can?”

“What part of omnipresent AI, don’t you get?”

“Any of it?”

STARK chuckles and the TV switches to live footage of a forest. A metal monstrosity comes running at the camera. A red and gold hand raises into view and blasts it away.

“What was that?”

“Robot. Keep up.”

The camera moves forward at a jog. He sees Wanda in the middle of three or four of them using whatever her power is to crumple them into twisted piles of junk.

“Why are they wearing capes?”

“They’re robotic copies of the dictator. He’s got a flair for the dramatic.” Something explodes out of frame. “Nice shot, Clint.”

“Yep, that was a one hundred percent intentional explosion,” Barton replies. “Completely unrelated, I’m a tiny bit on fire over here.”

“I’ve got it!” Thor runs past, presumably to put out the fire.

The footage is choppy and disorienting, but Bucky spots something familiar on the ground.

“Is that Steve’s helmet?”

The camera swings around and zooms in.

“Sure is.”

“Why isn’t it on his head?”

“He’s like a baby with a pair of socks. The helmet stays on for two minutes top.”

“Of course,” Bucky mutters. “Why would he protect his head? Where is the idiot now?”

“Hmm, good question. Has anyone seen Cap recently?” STARK calls over the suit’s speakers.

“I’m right here.” Carol waves and shoots a beam of golden light at a robot.

“No sorry, the other one.”

“He and Wilson went that way,” Romanoff answers.

“I’ll find him.” The suit takes off from the ground. It rises until it has a clear view of the battleground.

A cluster of the robots can be seen near the edge of what appears to be a cliff. Bucky groans. Steve is in the middle of that, he’s positive. The camera swoops toward the cluster. The dive makes Bucky dizzy. The Iron Man suit tears through the fracas, tossing robots left and right and revealing Sam Wilson in a punch-drunk daze.

“Sam, you okay? Hey, Wilson!” It waves a hand in Sam’s face.

“Huh? STARK? Where’s Steve?” Sam turns around, swaying slightly. “He was right there.” He coughs, spitting out blood.

“Uh oh. Vision, get Wilson back to the quinjet. Scan for internal bleeding.”

Vision scoops Sam out of view.

“Where is he?” Bucky asks.

“I’ve got a guess.” The camera swings to the ground. It focuses on skid marks in the dirt, clearly made by someone trying and failing to keep their footing.

Bucky’s heart is in his throat. He went off the side of the cliff.

The camera is moving again. The suit launches off the cliff and curves around to face it. It pans down. Bucky turns his head.

“Do you see him?” He can’t look back at the screen until he knows.

“I’ve got eyes on him.”

“Alive?”

“Alive and kicking.”

Bucky looks up. About half a mile down, hanging by one hand from the sheer rock, his legs flailing. The suit dives again. It comes to a stop underneath him, holding out its arms. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

Steve drops and the suit catches him by the armpits.

“Thanks,” Steve says, his voice shaky. “That was getting uncomfortable.”

“You could’ve let us know you needed help.”

“My com fell out somewhere. Probably when the helmet came off.”

“Fucking fuck!” Bucky pulls at his hair. STARK laughs.

“Okay then. Fifth-floor, perfume and lingerie, going up.” The camera points up as they ascend. A robot comes hurtling down at them from above. The camera spins wildly then cuts out.

“STARK!” Bucky yells. “What happened? STARK?”

Thirty long seconds of silence then the intercom crackles to life. “You still there, Buckleberry?”

“Yeah?” Bucky gulps.

“We’re fine. Hulk threw a Doombot over the cliff. He didn’t know we were down there. Knocked us around a bit but we’re okay. Back on solid ground. I lost the camera. Won’t have another until my backup suit arrives but I can give you the play by play.”

“Uh,” Bucky thinks, his heart still racing. “I… no. Just tell me when it’s over.”

He goes upstairs, takes an anxiety pill, and runs a bath.

* * *

 

- _Steve_ -

 

Steve is tired, sore, and frustrated. They’d gotten Doom to turn around and recall his troops, but he's a power-hungry genius with a ridiculous amount of resources and a throne. A throne they can’t just hoist him off of.

And he missed a day of Bucky’s visit. He’ll only be in the country for three more weeks and Steve missed an entire day. Steve unlocks his front door and gets an icepack from the freezer. He heads into the living room and notices a book on the coffee table. He picks it up.

“You fucking moron,” Bucky’s voice comes from above.

Steve looks up. Bucky is leaning on the banister, his hair wet, a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Hey,” Steve says.

“You fucking moron,” he repeats, glaring down at Steve.

Steve’s mouth quirks into a smile. The world’s deadliest assassin is obviously pissed at him. That may be cause for concern. But the world’s deadliest assassin is also glistening and wearing nothing but a towel and that cancels out all other concerns.

“You’re reading _Ancillary Mercy?_ What do you think? I liked the...”

Bucky closes his eyes, the vein on his forehead throbbing. “You’re asking about a book right now?”

“Uh...”

“Is Sam okay?”

“Mild concussion, a few bruised ribs, nothing serious.”

Bucky nods. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he explodes.

“Bloody lip, some scrapes, and my arm hurts from—“

“You have to wear your fucking helmet!”

“Right now?”

“When things are exploding and robots are falling from the sky you wear your fucking helmet! Why is that so hard?”

“I see better without it. It messes with my peripheral vision.”

“Then get one that doesn’t! T’Challa always wears his helmet.”

“Good for T’Challa.”

“Damn right good for T’Challa.” Bucky charges down the stairs, clutching the towel. “You need your head, Steve! It’s not like an arm. You can’t just pop on a new one.”

“I know that.”

“What if STARK hadn’t been there to catch you?”

“Then Thor or Carol or Vision would’ve. We’ve got a lot of flyers right now.”

“That’s not the point! They give enough of a shit to give you protective gear and you don’t even use it!”

Bucky’s skin is a tapestry of scars. Most notably where the prosthetic joins to his shoulder, but on his legs and torso too. HYDRA saw him as a tool. It doesn’t matter if a tool is damaged as long as it can still be used.

Steve steps forward and wraps his arms around Bucky. “I... I’m sorry.”

Bucky is too startled to protest. He smells of rosemary and soap.

“I don’t need a hug.” Bucky pulls away. “I need you to wear your fucking helmet.”

“Okay. You’re right. I’ll ask for a redesign that I can see out of.”

“Good.” Bucky crosses his arms and leans on the arm of the couch. The towel slips to just below his hip. His abdominal muscles move subtly up and down as he breathes. Steve bites his lip. It’s worrying how fast he can shift from horror at the things done to Bucky’s body to wanting to do things to that body.

“Confusing,” Bucky says, having calmed down.

“What?” Steve blinks. He’s lost the thread of the conversation.

“The book. It’s interesting but confusing. The world is fascinating but I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Really?” Steve doesn’t remember it being hard to follow. “But you weren’t confused by book one?”

“That isn’t book one?”

“ _Ancillary Justice_ is the first book in the series. That’s book three.”

“That’s why I didn’t who anyone was. I thought I’d forgotten how books work.” There’s genuine relief on his face. Steve wonders how much he’s had to relearn from scratch. Bucky stretches, the towel slipping a little further. He hikes it up. “I’m going to put on pants. Make some popcorn, will ya? I’ve picked out a movie for us to watch.”

“Sure.”

Steve starts the popcorn then goes to his room and peels off the combat suit. He needs to tell Bucky soon. If he waits much longer he’s going to do something impulsive. Something more than a hug. Steve would never do that to a woman, not without knowing she wanted him to. He can’t do it to Bucky either.

Bucky follows him back to the kitchen. He’s wearing a pair of dark gray sweatpants and a blue sweater. Steve pours the popcorn into a big bowl.

“How weird is that you can have popcorn whenever you want?” Bucky takes a handful from the bowl. It was pretty rare that they could afford both movie tickets and popcorn. And having it at home was unheard of. So was watching a movie at home for that matter.

“Needs more butter,” Bucky says through a mouthful of kernels.

“You’re getting it everywhere.” Steve swats at him with a dishtowel.

“Sorry, Ma.” He swallows and licks his lips.

Just like that, Steve doesn't care about the mess. He puts more butter into the microwave. “What are we watching?”

“ _Double Indemnity._ I heard it was good but never got to see it. Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck. I know you had a thing for her. Not as much as Hedy Lamarr, but I couldn’t find any of her movies.”

“I didn’t have a thing for Barbara Stanwyck.” He’s right about Hedy Lamarr though.

“Sure you did. You only dragged me to see _the Lady Eve_ five times.”

“Henry Fonda,” Steve says. This is it. This is his opening.

“What about him?”

“I wanted to see _the Lady Eve_ because of Henry Fonda.”

“Oh yeah, he’s a good actor.” Bucky nods.

Steve inhales. “I liked him the way I liked Hedy Lamarr. The way you liked Lana Turner.”

“That had nothing to do with her acting. I wanted to…” Bucky trails off. “You had the hots for Henry Fonda?”

Steve nods.

“Oh.” Bucky returns the nod. His forehead crinkles. “So you’re… You like men?”

“I do. Yeah.” Steve watches Bucky’s face. That must be what Steve looked like when he found out the Dodgers had moved to Los Angeles. Like something he always knew to be true suddenly wasn’t. He rubs his chin.

“But you were in love with Peggy. A blind man could’ve seen that.”

“I was. I like men and women. Henry and Hedy.”

Bucky tilts his head, a contemplative look on his face. “You like men,” he repeats. “Have you been holding on to that since we were kids?”

“Yeah.” Steve stares down at his feet.

“You could’ve told me. I wouldn’t have cared.”

Warmth courses up Steve’s body. He could leave it there. That would be fine. Bucky knows and he’s not disgusted by it. He could leave it there.

“We going to watch that movie or what? Would you rather watch _My Darling Clementine?_ Henry Fonda is in it, I think.”

“He is. I’ve seen it. Um…” Why can’t he say it? “You should know… I need to tell you something else. You were right, I loved Peggy. I also loved… I love… you.”

Bucky is silent.

“In love. I’m in love with you, Buck. I have been for a long time. I should’ve told you sooner but I didn’t know how.”

Bucky’s face is unreadable. Except for shock. His mouth hangs partially open. He takes a step back.

Steve gulps and looks back at his feet. “Nothing has to change. If you don’t feel the same way.” Steve looks up. Bucky has left. A few seconds later he hears the front door close.

The microwave beeps, announcing that the butter is ready. He takes it from the microwave, his head spinning with questions. Why? What is he supposed to do now? Run after him? Wait for him to come back? If he comes back. Maybe he’s already halfway to Wakanda. Should he go pack Bucky’s things to ship back to him? Why? Why didn’t he say anything?

He has no answers so he just holds the butter dish, letting it burn his hand until tears sting in his eyes.

“Cap?” STARK says through the intercom.

“Not now!” Steve snaps.

“I thought you might want to know that Barnes is in the field house, losing what’s left of his marbles.”

Steve runs.

He reaches the field house and flings open the door, not knowing what to expect. Bucky stands near the opposite wall, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Buck?” he asks gently.

No answer. Bucky is breathing erratically and wringing his hands.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to… I’ll always be your friend. No matter what.”

Bucky looks at him and blanches. “I’m sorry,” he gasps and backs up to the wall.

“Buck, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I killed you,” he insists. He slides to the floor, staring at his hands.

“What? No. _No_ , you didn’t.”

“On the helicarrier. They told me to kill you, so you were dead. I wanted you dead. I was going to kill you.”

“But you didn’t. Listen to me.” Steve takes his hand. The metal hand but he knows Bucky can feel it. “You didn’t do it. You broke their control. You _didn’t_ do it.”

Bucky throws his head back and sucks in air like he’s drowning. Steve eases him to his feet. Bucky clutches at him like he’ll slide into oblivion if he lets go.

They stay like that for a long time, Bucky going in and out of crying jags. Eventually, he breaks away and trudges back to Steve’s house. He collapses onto the guest bed and is asleep in seconds. It takes longer for Steve to drift off.

Steve is still exhausted when he wakes. The scent of coffee calls him down to the kitchen. Bucky is sitting at the table with two mugs.

“Sit down. We need to talk.” Bucky pulls out a chair. Steve sits. “What you said, it startled me. All I could think about is that you’re the only person who cares about me.”

“I’m not the only person—”

“Let me finish,” Bucky cuts him off. “You’re the only one who cares for a reason other than my tragic backstory. But I almost killed you and—”

“It wasn’t you. You were—”

“Steve. I am the one talking right now. I remembered how close I came to killing you and got crushed by this metric ton of guilt. It didn’t matter that I didn’t actually kill you. It felt like I did. It was overwhelming. I panicked and I ran.”

Bucky stirs his coffee in silence for a few seconds.

“It’s happened before. First HYDRA took my memories, then they took my emotions. I was only allowed to feel what was useful to them. Fear, pain, sometimes rage. After I escaped, I was numb, but since the treatments, the emotions have come back. That’s a good thing, but it can be too much. I feel _too much_. It scares me. Shuri showed me these movies about toys that come to life. I cried.”

“Those movies made me cry too.”

“But I couldn’t stop crying. I needed an IV for dehydration. Another time T’Challa came to see me at the farm. Every time he opened his mouth one of my goats screamed over him. Every time. I laughed so hard I hyperventilated and passed out. Shuri calls them emotion storms. She says I’ll stabilize eventually. I’m sorry you had to see that.” Bucky wipes away a tear.

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“As for what you actually said, I can’t lie, I’m confused. I wasn’t expecting it. I never knew you felt that way. I'm flattered.”

 _Flattered. Ouch._ Steve closes his eyes, bracing for the rejection.

“I don’t… I don’t know how to respond. The thing is I feel good when I’m around you. The most like who I used to be. You woke me up when nothing else in 70 years could. I clearly have feelings for you, Stevie. I just don’t know what they are. Love? Friendship? Nostalgia? I don’t know.”

“It’s not me, it’s you?” Steve attempts a smile, he’s not sure he manages it.

“I’m not trying to let you down gently. I honestly don’t know. I think it’s best if I go back to Wakanda now. Try to figure it out somewhere I’m not being bombarded by… everything. That’s not fair to you. You deserve better. You deserve someone who can hear that someone as great as you is in love with them without falling apart.”

Steve doesn’t want someone. He wants Bucky.

“Okay.” It starts as a whisper but gets stronger. “Do what you have to do. Take your time. Figure it out. If you realize it’s just friendship, I’ll move on. But not until you know.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Stevie. I’ve caused too much pain. I don’t want to add to it.”

“I’m strong. I can take it.”

“You always were.”

A Wakandan aircraft arrives an hour later and takes him away.


	4. Chapter 4

_-Bucky-_

 

For the next six weeks, all Bucky thinks about is Steve. He examines every memory, trying to identify what Steve is to him.

The first time he ever saw Steve Rogers he was face down in the dirt, screaming threats at the bully sitting on his back. Bucky didn’t know whether to laugh or applaud. Before he could talk himself out of it, Bucky scooped up a handful of rocks and threw one at the bigger boy’s head.

“Jesus Christ, Barnes!” Anthony Romero yelped, clutching his ear.

“There’s plenty more where that came from. Leave him alone.”

Anthony ran off and Bucky turned to the kid on the ground. “You okay?” He offered his hand, but the boy struggled to his feet on his own. He was a scrawny little thing.

“I didn’t need your help,” he spat, brushing at his filthy clothes.

“Clearly.” Bucky laughed.

“Just leave me alone,” the boy muttered.

“Suit yourself, shrimp.” Bucky ran off to play until the bell rang. It came as a shock when the new kid slunk into his classroom. Bucky assumed he was a grade or two below him. The boy handed a note to Mr. Franklin who nodded and sent him to the desk in front of Bucky.

“You’re in this class?” Bucky nudged his shoulder.

“Clearly,” he retorted.

“How old are you?”

“Eight.”

“Why weren’t you in school before now?”

“Mr. Barnes!” Mr. Franklin boomed. “Did I change the rules about talking in class?”

“No, sir.”

The new kid slumped down in his chair, his ears turning red.

When they were released for lunch Bucky wolfed down the ham salad his ma packed for him then joined the daily stickball game. Bucky noticed the new kid, who he now knew was called Steve, sitting by himself. He had a book open on his lap but he was watching the game.

The next day Steve limped into the schoolyard with a fresh black eye.

“Does your dad hit you?” Bucky sidled up next to him.

“My dad died in the war.”

“Your ma hit you?”

“No! I got jumped on the way.”

At lunch Bucky broke off from the game and ran to where Steve was sitting under a tree, working on a math assignment. On closer inspection, he was drawing baseball players in the margins of his notebook.

“What position do you play?”

“What?” Steve looked up, confused.

“Baseball, what position do you play?”

“I don’t.”

“Can you run?”

“Not really.”

“Throw?”

Steve shook his head.

“Then you’ll have to catch. Come on.”

That was the first time he saw Steve smile. It changed his whole face.

They walked home together, talking about the Dodgers the whole way. They only lived a few blocks apart. The next morning, he waited in front of Steve’s building and walked with him to school. No one was jumping Steve again. Not on his watch.

That became the routine, but one morning Steve didn’t show. Bucky waited as long as he could. He had to run to make it to school, certain Steve left without him and got his ass whupped again. But Steve was missing from the classroom. After school, Bucky ran to Steve’s building and banged at the door until a woman with white hair opened it.

“Why wasn’t Steve at school?” he shouted, breathless.

The woman stared at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I didn’t mean to yell.” He removed his hat and held it in front of himself. “My name is Bucky. I’m a friend of Steve’s. Is he okay?”

“He’s ill,” she said with a thick Irish brogue.

“Can I see him?”

“He’s sleeping. I’ll tell him you came by.”

“Are you his ma?”

“His ma is working. I just look after him. I told Sarah the wee lad wasn’t ready for school. Smart as a whip but sickly.”

“Is that why he started so late? He’s been sick?”

“Been sick. Is sick. He’s got a bad heart, bad lungs, too skinny, too small. You’re a good boy to take pity on him.”

Bucky left. He didn’t pity Steve. He had at first, but he quickly learned that Steve hated pity. He just liked Steve.

From then on they were inseparable. Closer than brothers. They shared everything: every dream, every hope, every disappointment. At least he thought they did.

How did he miss that Steve was in love with him?

He remembers a night maybe a year before the war, they went out for drinks with some of his buddies from work. They were sitting around, shooting the shit. He felt a hand slip into his under the table. Bucky looked over at Steve, who had the dopiest grin on his face. He chalked it up to Steve being a happy drunk. He can’t believe he was so naive.

What would Bucky have done if he’d known? He never considered being with a man. He figured that was something you just knew about yourself. Steve seemed to know it about himself. Bucky, on the other hand, knew from an early age that he liked women. Maybe too much. It got him into trouble more than once.

Bucky popped his cherry with Moira Donoghue when he was fifteen. Then had to jump from her fire escape to get away from her three enormous, pissed off, older brothers. He ran straight to Steve to tell him all about it. Steve listened quietly then told him to find a girl with smaller brothers.

It never made sense to Bucky that women weren’t throwing themselves at Steve before the serum. Yes, he was small, but he always had those eyes, that hair, those lips. That enormous heart. _Does_ he like men? He doesn’t think so. He just likes Steve.

The only time he ever lied to Steve was when he told him he’d enlisted. He couldn’t look Steve in the eye and tell him he’d been drafted. He knew how badly Steve wanted to enlist. He hoped that if Steve knew that one of them was going, he’d quit trying to sign up himself.

That plan failed spectacularly.

Does he love Steve? He would die for Steve. He has. Then Steve literally went to Hell for him. Does he love Steve? What a stupid question.

Is he in love with Steve?

If Steve were a woman would it even be a question?

“I knew it! You do love him back!” Shuri squeals when he tells her that he’s leaving.

“He told you before he told me?”

“I figured it out while he was sick and you were dead. I couldn’t tell you because I couldn’t violate doctor-patient confidentiality. But I really wanted to. I did maybe nudge him to tell you himself. Aggressively nudged.”

Bucky laughs. She’s such a teenager. “So now you’re my matchmaker along with my physician, surgeon, and therapist?”

“Aren’t you lucky I am? Look what happened!”

“Yes, I really enjoyed the meltdown I had when he told me.”

“You want to go back to feeling nothing?”

“No.” Bucky shudders.

“That’s the tradeoff. You’ll have the occasional storm, but it’s better than the alternative. You don’t have to go now. You can wait until your emotions are more balanced. Though, I don’t know how long that will take.”

“I’ve kept him waiting long enough.” He shakes his head.

“I’m pretty sure he’d wait forever if you asked him to.”

“That’s exactly why I have to go now.”

She does a full physical and a psych profile. They review his remaining triggers and what he can do to minimize them.

He goes back to the farm and packs his few belongings. Then sells the goats to his neighbor and watches them be led away. He’s really doing this.

A transport takes him to the palace a little while later. T’Challa, Nakia, Okoye, and Shuri are waiting to see him off.

“Alright White Wolf, are you certain about leaving us?” T’Challa asks, patting him on the back.

“I love it here but it’s time to go.”

“Very well, then I’d like to buy your land for the national trust. You can return as a guest caretaker whenever you choose. Would three million US suffice?”

“I only paid two thousand for it.”

“Yes, a wise investment. It’s good land.”

“It’s not even a full acre.”

“I’ve transferred the money into an account in your name. Details are all here.” He hands Bucky a portfolio. Bucky starts to protest but Nakia interrupts.

“Just take it. He’s worried you won’t be able to support yourself. And this is my going away present.” She gestures to where a couple of technicians are loading a beautiful motorcycle into the cargo hold. “As a thank you for your help with the Namibia case. I will miss having someone to watch my back.”

“I watch your back,” T’Challa says, affronted.

“Someone competent. Who doesn’t get distracted by a football match.”

“It was the World Cup Final! We were winning!”

Shuri takes his hand, slips his beads from his wrist and hands him a western phone. “I’ve upgraded it. Won’t match the Kimoyo but it’s the best you can get with the terrible internet coverage in the US.” She pulls him in for a hug. “Of all the broken white boys I’ve helped, you were the most broken,” she whispers in his ear.

He laughs and hugs her tighter.

“I am not going to hug you,” Okoye says. “I’ve never liked you and I won’t miss you. Here, take these for the trip.” She thrusts a sack of spicy dried fruit snacks at him. There’s a lot of snack overlap between them.

“Thank you.”

She nods.

He boards the aircraft and flies away from the first place he’s felt safe in seventy years.

It occurs to him during the final approach to New York, that he hasn’t told Steve he’s coming. He turns on his phone and discovers that the Avengers are not in New York. They’re fighting something—though none of the reports agree on what—in the Midwest.

“Can we make a detour?” he radios the pilot.

Half an hour later, they’ve landed in Minneapolis. Bucky disembarks and gets on the motorcycle. The pilot will drop his stuff at the compound before returning to Wakanda.

The bike can really move. The GPS takes him to the area where the Avengers were sighted. The closer he gets the emptier the streets. The public was advised to stay indoors and keep away from the danger zone.

A police officer stands in the middle of a nearly empty street about two blocks from his destination. She signals for him to stop.

“Sir, we’ve got a situation ahead. For your own safety, I have to ask you to turn around.”

“Uh. I appreciate that, but I know about the situation. I’m sort of with them.” He raises his metal arm, having no other proof.

She looks at it, eyes narrowed. “You won’t sue the city if you get hurt?”

“No, ma'am.”

She waves him on.

Bucky stops the bike in front of a large, oddly shaped metal building. It was flagged as the epicenter of the incident. It’s a museum from what he can tell. He gets off the bike and heads for the doors but before he reaches them they burst open, one flying off a hinge. Thor runs through swinging his massive ax at six or seven assailants. His opponents look human but their faces and features keep changing.

Bucky grabs the nearest one and slams them into the pavement. It loses consciousness and reverts to a humanoid creature with bumpy, dark green skin, long pointed ears, and a ridged chin.

“Bucky?” Thor squints at him. The thunder god charges at him and slaps him on the back of the head.

Bucky stumbles forward a few steps, his ears ringing.

“Oh! Sorry! Had to make sure that you’re not a Skrull. And good news! You’re not!” Thor gives him a thumbs up. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Steve.”

“He’s upstairs I think. Come on.” Thor reenters the building. He waves to Wanda who’s maintaining a wall of red energy in front of a gift shop. Behind it, a group of people running the emotional gamut from frightened to delighted, stare out at them.

“Is he…?” she asks.

“Not a Skrull. I checked.”

“What’s a Skrull?” Bucky asks.

“Off-world shapeshifters. Carol can tell you all about them if you’re interested. Here take a couple of these.” Thor holds out a handful of quarters.

“You want me to get coffee?”

“I would love coffee but no, that’s not what those are for. Dr. Strange charmed them. You put one on the back of the neck and if they’re a Skrull they can’t hold one form for more than a second or two.”He leads Bucky up a set of stairs and through a few galleries. It’s an art museum: modern art from the looks of it. They pause twice to fight more of the shapeshifters.

“No, I can’t right now,” Thor says while punching a rapidly shifting opponent.

“Can’t what?” Bucky asks, kicking one of the aliens through a wall.

 _So sorry, I’m on the phone,_ Thor mouths. “So tell Bruce that you’re hungry,” he says out loud. Then a moment later he adds, “Why aren’t you speaking to him?” Another pause. “Why did he put you in time out?… Uh-huh… Let me talk to him.” Thor swings the ax, knocking three Skrulls into a paper installation. “What really happened?… I see… Put Loki back on… You need to apologize to Bruce right now… Yes, you do… Apologize or no _Mario Kart_ for a month.”

Bucky is grabbed from behind and slammed against a wall. He’s momentarily stunned by a jab to the nape of his neck.

“Oh.” Romanoff releases him. “You’re not a Skrull.”

“I already checked,” Thor says.

“Shouldn’t you be in Wakanda?”

“He’s looking for Steve.”

“He’s—” She’s interrupted by the sound of breaking glass. Romanoff points a thumb over her shoulder. Bucky nods and heads that way.

He doesn’t find Steve at the end of the hall, just a broken window. Bucky peers through, Steve is down on the street, running after half a dozen of the shapeshifting aliens. Bucky sighs and steps out the window, dropping the twenty feet to the pavement below. Thor lands behind him seconds later. Steve has chased the aliens downhill into a sculpture garden. Bucky pauses in his pursuit. Steve doesn’t need his help at the moment.

Steve runs up a sculpture in the shape of a giant spoon with an equally giant cherry at the end. He leaps off of it and soars over the aliens’ heads to land in front of them. He takes out two with the shield in quick succession. He takes on the rest hand to hand. He’s even better than he was in the Forties when he was still figuring out what to do with all that raw power. Now there’s not a single wasted movement. Every jab lands exactly where it should, each block turns his opponents’ momentum back on them. His violence is poetry.

There are two Skrulls left. One gives up fighting and runs while Steve is distracted. Steve knocks out the one closest to him and takes off after the other. The Hulk runs toward them from the opposite direction.

“Head him off!” Steve yells to the olive-hued behemoth.

“Thor? Bruce is watching Loki, right?” Bucky asks. “So who’s that?”

“Skrulk!” Thor roars and hits the imposter with a bolt of lightning, just before it reaches Steve. The force of the blast throws Steve back, allowing the last alien to slip away. Bucky is already running down the sloping hill after the escaping Skrull. It runs across a multilane highway into a city park. Bucky momentarily loses sight of it. It’s a large park, Bucky can’t see which way it went.

“Hey, Super-Amputee Man or whatever! It went that way!” A civilian in a Spider-man hoodie points. Bucky pivots and spots the shifting figure again as it’s running out of the park.

“Super-Amputee Man?” Shuri is right, he needs to come up with a code name. He’s never going by Winter Soldier of his own volition and White Wolf was cute when the Wakandan kids called him that, but he’s not going to label himself “white” anything now that he’s back in the states.

Bucky chases the alien up the steps of an enormous church. The Skrull tears through the golden doors into the vestibule, Bucky on his heels. He catches up to it halfway up the aisle and grabs it by the arm. The alien kicks out at him, its face still transforming every few seconds. Bucky knocks it out. The door opens and Steve comes up the aisle. He pauses, looking from the alien on the floor to Bucky and back again.

“Hey Stevie, I got you a present.” He gestures to the prone creature. Steve stares at him. Must not be in a joking mood. “So…uh… I’ve been thinking. I don’t understand why you feel the way you do about me. I really don’t, but some days knowing that you believe in me is the only thing getting me out of bed in the morning. You aren’t just a friend. You’re the best person I know. I—” Bucky’s throat is swollen and tight. Sweat rolls down his brow. Steve is still just standing there. “Rogers, you’re killing me. Say something please.”

Steve advances, face blank.

“I guess I deserve that for running out on you. Ya’ know, even when you’re being a complete pain in the ass, God help me, I’m crazy about you. You’re…” Bucky trails off. “…a Skrull. You’re a Skrull. Shit.”

The thing that looks like Steve lunges. Bucky dodges and grabs it by the waist. He slaps a quarter on its neck then knees it in the chest. The creature falls to the floor. It scrabbles for Bucky’s ankle, pulling him off his feet. They grapple on the tile floor until Bucky gets his feet under its chest and kicks, sending The Skrull flying into a row of pews. Bucky pulls himself to his feet, checking that the Skrull has finally gone still.

“Buck?”

Bucky turns to the door. Steve is standing at the end of the aisle.

“Hi Stevie,” Bucky laughs. His head is throbbing; he hit it pretty hard. He steps forward but Steve steps back, his mouth set in a frown. Bucky nods. “You think I’m one of them.”

“It has occurred to me as a possibility,” Steve answers.

“I thought that was you.” He points at the sprawled Skrull. “Thor and Romanoff already verified me.” Bucky turns and lifts his hair to expose the quarter on his neck.

“I need to use one of mine to know for sure.”

“Do what you gotta do.” Bucky holds up his hands as Steve approaches. Steve cautiously replaces the quarter with one of his own.

“It’s you,” he says. It sounds like he’s talking more to himself than to Bucky. “What are you… what does this mean? Do you know what…? Are you…?”

Bucky turns to face Steve. He’s wearing the full uniform, helmet and all. Bucky opens his mouth to repeat everything he just said to Skrull-Steve, but he can’t spill his guts again quite so soon. Instead, he yanks Steve forward by one of the shield straps, closes his eyes and kisses him. Steve lets out a surprised squeak, then his arms are around Bucky and he’s kissing back. They break apart, their foreheads pressed together.

“I love you too,” Bucky says.

* * *

 

_-Steve-_

 

Before the serum, Steve’s heart was a feeble, irregular, unreliable organ. If he pushed his body an inch too far his heart would accelerate like it was trying to escape his chest.

It felt a lot like this.

Bucky kissed him. Bucky said he loves him.

Steve is furious at his younger self for never telling Bucky how he felt. He wasted years—YEARS—when he could’ve been kissing Bucky.

He should be irritated at Bucky for just turning up in the middle of a mission, for not letting him know he was coming. But he can’t hold onto any thought other than _Bucky loves me, Bucky loves me, Bucky loves me._

He wants to slow everything down and savor this moment but there’s work to do. He radios Carol to round up the incapacitated Skrull. They leave the church to regroup with the rest of the team. Steve takes note of the name, the Basilica of Saint Mary. They kissed inside a Catholic church, one blessed by the Pope no less.

“Look it’s Bucky. Bucky is back. Yay,” Sam deadpans as they approach.

“He’s coming back to the compound with us.” He turns to Bucky and whispers. “Is it okay to tell them?”

Bucky sucks on his lower lip and nods.

“We’re…” Steve gropes for the right word. Dating? They haven’t been on a date yet. Lovers? Even if they’d had time to sleep together since he showed up, Steve wouldn’t be comfortable with the word. “Uh…”

“Together?” Wanda suggests.

“That’s it, yeah.” Steve’s cheeks flush.

“That’s wonderful news!” Thor’s massive arms engulf Steve, pulling him into a bear hug. He releases him and turns to Bucky. “Do you hug?”

“Not really,” Bucky says.

“Too bad. This team needs more huggers.”

“I’m a hugger,” Scott interjects.

“Excellent!” Thor turns and hugs Scott.

Clint slips Natasha a twenty-dollar bill.

Steve does not like that they’ve been placing bets on his love life, but it can’t ruin his mood. He feels as buoyant and insubstantial as a soap bubble caught in an updraft.

Maria Hill takes custody of the weapon the Skrulls were hiding at the museum and exchanges insurance info with a representative from the city.

Bucky retrieves a motorcycle he brought with him from Wakanda and loads it on the jet. Clint wants to check out Paisley Park. He’ll head back to the farm when he’s done, so Bucky takes his seat.

Bucky leans on his shoulder, drawing circles on Steve’s palm. Steve can’t remember the last time he felt this content. Before the plane crash? Before the war? No, not since before his mother died. The world is being kind to him for once. Bucky loves him, so Steve loves… everything. His teammates, the state of Minnesota, modern art. He’s even feeling warm and fuzzy about the Skrulls.

They finally reach the compound and retrieve Bucky’s luggage from the main building. When they get to his door Steve takes Bucky’s hands, metal and flesh, and brings them to his lips. He only meant to give each light kiss but he’s so giddy he practically swallows them whole. Bucky laughs; his tongue flicks out and runs over his lips. Steve drags Bucky through the door. He pins him to the wall, kissing him again. Bucky turns his head. Steve kisses his cheeks, his neck, anything Bucky puts in front of him to kiss.

He’s being clumsy and overeager, but he can’t help it. He’s spurred on by the need to touch the person he’s fantasized about touching since he was old enough to have fantasies.

They’re both wearing too much clothing. Steve struggles out of the uniform jacket and pulls off the shirt beneath. All while keeping one hand on Bucky. He has this notion that if he breaks contact for a second Bucky will vanish like a dream. He nudges Bucky’s knee aside and presses in closer. He needs to be closer. He grasps at Bucky’s belt. Bucky lightly pushes his hand away.

“Stevie, I didn’t think we’d be doing this so soon. Can we slow down?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. Okay.” Steve steps back, working on rapidly switching gears. Bucky leans his head on Steve’s collarbone, his arms circling his waist. His hot breath on Steve’s bare skin is making every cell in Steve’s body scream _touch, kiss, lick, squeeze._ Regardless of what Tony used to say, restraint isn’t one of his strengths. But Bucky asked to slow down so slow down he will.

Steve rests his chin in Bucky’s hair. Bucky is alive and safe and in love with him. It’s the first time all of those things have been true at once.

“I need to tell you some stuff.” Bucky steps back and runs a hand through his hair. “You need to know what kind of broken-down horse you’re hitching your wagon to. Give you a chance to back out.”

“Buck, that’s not going to happen. Nothing you tell me will change how I feel.”

“Don’t say that until you’ve heard it all. The good, the bad, the pharmaceutical.”

“Pharmaceutical?”

“Right, let’s start with that.” Bucky picks up a small duffle bag. He carries it into the living room and sits cross-legged on the floor. Steve takes a seat across from him. Bucky starts pulling pill bottles from the bag. “Steve, I’d like you to meet my medications. Meds, this is Steve.” He arranges them on the rug like he’s setting up one of those elaborate board games Natasha loves so much. He taps one of the lids. “These help me sleep. And these are painkillers for when my shoulder flares up.”

“It hurts?”

“Not as much with this new arm, but it still hurts from time to time. These are for anxiety.” He holds the bottle to his cheek. “They’re my favorites. Oh, and these are good for my memory.”

“You have your memories back, don’t you?”

“Yeah mostly. I know who I am and who you are. I still know at least fourteen Jack Benny routines by heart. I remember every awful thing those bastards made me do. My long-term memory is aces. But the repeated wipes took a toll on my short-term memory. If I miss a dose of these, things get fuzzy. Little details will go missing. Like if I’ve taken the important meds that day.”

“Such as?”

“These.” He shakes a big bottle. “For my kidneys.”

“What's wrong with your kidneys?”

“The knockoff serum that Zola gave me does not play well with kidneys. The right one has been replaced twice.” He rubs his side. “This one only once. Shuri thinks I’ll get a few more years out of it. She’s working on a way to grow me a new one. In the meantime the meds keep me going.”

Steve stands and retrieves a blank notebook. He opens to the first page and writes down each medication and dose.

“Any others?”

“Calcium supplements. According to Helen osteoporosis runs in the family.”

Steve writes in the supplements.

“That covers the meds. Flip the page, you’re going to need space. You already know about the emotion storms. You’ve got to let them happen, trying to stop it only makes it worse. Unless I’m putting someone in danger, let me ride it out.”

“And if you are putting someone in danger? Yourself included?”

“Get me away. I’ll need my own room. Somewhere that’s just mine. Can I take the guest room?”

“Of course you can.” It’s a reasonable request. Steve assumed they’d be sharing a room as they had before the war. Their old apartment only had one bedroom: they didn’t have a choice. It’s okay, they’re sharing a house. That’s good enough.

“Same thing for nightmares. Don’t wake me up, even if it’s a bad one.”

“Okay.” Steve understands. He’s had those dreams. The shock of being taken out of it can be worse than the nightmare itself. He’d thrown Vision through a wall when the android interrupted a dream about Vormir.

“Shuri was able to remove the code words. There’s no way to snap your fingers and turn me into a puppet. But she could only get rid of the programming. The intentional triggers. There’s still all these learned triggers stuck in my skull. Nothing that will turn me into the Soldier, just things that freak me out.”

“I’m listening.” Steve holds the pencil at the ready.

“Don’t sneak up on me.”

“Okay.” Another one they have in common.

“And don’t take food from me.”

“Why would I?”

“You wouldn’t take a steak out of my mouth, but you might take a French fry from my plate. Or try to clear the table if it looks like I’m done eating, don’t. Just don’t.”

Steve writes, _“No taking food.”_

“Cantaloupe makes me nauseous. I’m not entirely sure why. Even the smell makes me gag.”

 _“Cantaloupe: NO!”_   he writes.

“I’m not good with eye contact. This distance is okay, but close eye contact feels like a threat.” Bucky clenches the metal fist. Steve recalls Bucky closing his eyes at the Basilica. He thought it was sweet at the time.

“I can’t kiss you?”

“You can. I liked it.” Bucky grins. “I just can’t look at you when you do.”

 _“Kissing yes, looking no,”_ Steve adds to the page. He can work with that.

“But the other stuff… the more intimate stuff, I’m going to need time.”

“How much time?”

Bucky shrugs.

“Okay. That’s fine,” Steve says, nodding. He gets it. He’s wanted Bucky since he was fourteen years old, but these feelings are new for Bucky. He needs time. It’s fine.

 _“Sex: Not Right Now.”_ Steve writes.

“It’s a lot. I know. You ready to bolt yet?” Bucky tucks his chin to his shoulder.

“Asthma, heart murmur, chronic pneumonia and bronchitis, ulcers, scoliosis, anemia,” Steve lists. “You never bolted on me.” He bends over and kisses Bucky’s left knee. He hopes that wasn’t too intimate. It must be okay because Bucky just laughs and pats his head.

“You forgot the constant beatings, the risk-taking, and the need to prove a point no matter the cost,” he adds.

“Yeah, I’m the worst,” Steve says, his head still resting on Bucky’s knee.

“No, you’re the best,” Bucky whispers.

“Alright then, what about the good?” Steve sits back up and turns to a new page.

“Hm?”

“We’ve covered the bad and the pharmaceutical. Now I want to hear the good.”

“I… uh… I don’t have anything prepared for that.” He closes his eyes. “Okay um… Good? Good? I’m not a brainwashed assassin anymore?”

“I’d say that belongs on the good list.”

“And I love you.”

Steve smiles. “I’m putting that on the top of the list. Go on.”

“I’m good with animals.”

Steve writes _“animals (look into acquiring goats for the compound. Alpacas?)”_

“What else? Oh yeah, I’m rich!”

“You are?” Steve laughs.

“T’Challa gave me three million dollars before I left.”

“What for?”

“For being pathetic, I guess. Who knew it was so lucrative?” Bucky shrugs.

“Never worked for me,” Steve mutters.

Bucky throws his head back and laughs. “Also I like food. A lot.”

“Any in particular?”

“Just food, except cantaloupe. Oh, pancakes are good. And plums. And cheese. Gingerbread. Walnuts…”

The food list takes up most of the page.

“And I have friends now. Shuri, T’Challa, Nakia, Okoye, Sam. Sam is my friend, right? He says he hates me a lot, but I don’t think he’s serious.”

“Sam is your friend, yes.” Steve nods.

“I thought so. Okoye does the same thing. I like books and working out and kicking HYDRA’s sadistic ass. And I like… this.” He reaches out and touches Steve’s chest. Steve draws in a breath. “I didn’t at first because you looked so different, but I’ve gotten used to it. You’re healthy and strong now. And I’m so fucking glad. Though it does mean you take even bigger risks.”

Bucky’s hand moves lower. He traces a curlicue on Steve’s stomach.

 _“Bucky likes my body,”_ Steve writes in shaky letters.

He wants to do things that Bucky doesn’t want yet. So he won’t. Not until Bucky gives him permission. He wonders if Bucky is touching him like this to test that he won’t violate the boundary that he set. He may not even know that’s what he’s doing. Steve inhales again. Restraint. He’ll work on it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place two months after chapter 4.

- _Steve_ -

 

Bucky is draped over Steve’s legs, fast asleep. They’d fallen asleep face to face, but sometime during the night Bucky rolled onto his stomach and turned upside down. Steve slept right through what must have been quite a production. Since the serum, Steve sleeps like the dead. He once dozed off on the Quinjet and woke with the Pledge of Allegiance written on his face.

His legs are buzzing from the 230 pounds of deadweight resting on them.

“Buck, my legs are asleep.” He jostles Bucky.

“‘m asleep,” Bucky mutters and burrows into a pillow at the foot of the bed.

Steve sighs. Despite having his own room, most nights he sleeps in Steve’s bed. He’s a restless sleeper, shifting position multiple times before finally falling into deep REM. At which point he transforms into an anvil, pinning Steve to the mattress.

“C’mon Buck, my legs are killing me and I’ve got to piss.”

He gets a grunt in response. He bicycles his knees under Bucky’s chest.

“Shouldn’t you be feeding the chickens right now?”

“Chickens,” Bucky repeats groggily.

The request to raise goats on the compound was denied, but Steve petitioned and got approved for 6 chickens and a rooster.

“Get up, please,” Steve groans. Bucky raises his head.

“G’morning.” He flashes a sleepy smile. Steve melts. Bucky rolls out of bed and stumbles into the bathroom. Steve hastily stretches his legs then runs for the downstairs bathroom. Steve returns upstairs in time to see Bucky pulling on his sweats. Steve’s eyes linger on his muscled back, all the dips and curves. Bucky reaches behind his back and wiggles his fingers, beckoning him. Steve takes his hand.

“Give us a kiss, peeping Tom.” He turns, his eyes closed, chin tilted expectantly. Eye contact is still a problem. Steve obliges with a light peck. Bucky returns it with more enthusiasm, tugging on Steve’s lower lip. Steve’s knees wobble. “Right, the birds aren’t going to feed themselves.” Bucky pats Steve’s shoulder, downs his morning medications, and heads for the stairs.

Steve falls backward onto the bed. He covers his face with a pillow and screams. For the past two months, the only thing Bucky has done in Steve’s bed is sleep. Steve hasn’t been this frustrated since the last time they lived together. At least then Bucky wasn’t touching and kissing him all of the damn time. Not that Steve wants him to stop, he loves Bucky’s effortless affection, but it makes not going further than Bucky is comfortable with so— _difficult_.

In his entire life, he only loved Bucky and Peggy. To his chagrin, he slept with neither. However, contrary to popular belief, Steve was not a virgin when he enlisted.

At nineteen he came down with rheumatic fever. He spent weeks in the hospital and made friends with a nurse on the night shift. She was only a year or two older than him. She spoke to him gently and held his hand on the bad nights when it seemed he wouldn’t pull through. By the time he was on the mend, he was so comfortable with her that he forgot he couldn’t talk to women. They had a lot in common, both grew up poor, both lost parents young, both wanted to do something important with their lives. The night before he was going to be released, she got him out of bed and led him to a supply closet. His first time was rushed and awkward: fumbling in the dark, trying not to be heard. One of the best nights of his life.

Followed by one of the worst. He returned the next night with a handful of daisies, the best he could afford. Her face paled. She took him aside and told him it could never happen again.

“Was I that bad?”

“No, no you were fine, but I’m married.”

“Married?” Steve couldn’t help glancing at her hand.

“We can’t afford a ring. He’s looking for work out West. I was lonely and… I’m sorry, you’re a sweet boy but it was a mistake. I love my husband.”

He never told anyone, not even Bucky. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it only happened because she felt sorry for him. A few months later, he started fooling around with another student at the art college. He was a year behind him and half a foot taller. They didn’t discuss what they were doing. They hardly spoke at all, but Steve knew it wasn’t an act of charity. The whole thing had been risky and thrilling and completely meaningless.

That’s the sum total of his experience before his body changed. One man and one woman but not the man or woman he wanted. After the serum, he had opportunities but he knew they were interested in Captain America not Steve from Brooklyn. Not being a virgin didn’t give him the confidence to tell Bucky how he felt or to ask Peggy to dance.

When he woke up in this century, he was too preoccupied with everything he’d lost. Sex barely registered for him. He had his moments of course; he noticed Natasha’s legs, Thor’s forearms, Tony’s doe-eyes. He was surrounded by attractive people on a daily basis, but he never felt compelled to do anything about it.

These days he may as well be a teenager with an unrequited crush for all the action he’s getting. At least he knows how to please himself. One long shower later, he’s ready to start the day.

Steve cleans up the remains of Bucky’s first breakfast, puts a couple of English muffins in the toaster and starts a batch of hash browns and sausages on the stove. Bucky is in the yard, scattering feed to the hens. Steve sees Loki, in a pair of dinosaur print pajamas, approach the pen. Bucky holds up the feed bucket for the child. They toss a handful at the birds.

Bucky enters trailed by Loki.

Steve hands Bucky a plate and turns to take his own, but Loki is already carrying it away. Steve sighs and pops another muffin into the toaster.

“Loki?” Steve peers under the table where the erstwhile planetary overlord is lying on their stomach.

“Uh-huh?” Loki replies, carefully licking strawberry jam off the purloined muffin.

“Does Thor know where you are?”

“He’s sleeping. Can I have some juice?”

Bucky pours a glass of orange juice and slides it under the table. Steve texts Thor to head off any missing kid panic when he wakes.

He gets a response fifteen minutes later.

_Sorry! I’ll be right there._

_Take your time._ Other than appropriating Steve’s breakfast Loki isn’t making trouble.

When they’ve all finished, Bucky collects the plates and loads the dishwasher while Steve reads the day’s news on his tablet. Loki emerges from beneath the table and starts rummaging through the utensil drawer.

“What’s this?” they ask, holding up a nutmeg grater.

“A nail file for the Hulk,” Bucky answers.

“And this?” Loki pulls out a melon baller.

“For when you want to have a snowball fight with a mouse.”

“You’re making that up.”

“Maybe.” Bucky shrugs and grins. Loki laughs and starts to play with a coiled egg whisk, pulling it back and watching it spring forward again and again. There’s a knock at the door. Steve lets Thor in.

“Thank you! I’ll take Loki off your hands.”

“They haven’t been a bother. Are you alright? You look a little the worse for wear.” His cheeks are sallow and there are dark rings around his eyes—eye. He hasn’t bothered putting in the prosthetic.

“Had a bit of a rough night.” Thor exhales and settles on the couch.

“Parenting a god of mischief takes a toll, huh?”

“ _Former_ god of mischief, and yes, but that’s not why I’m tired. I’ve got a google alert for articles about the trial. There was this awful editorial published yesterday. And the comments…”

“Never read the comments.” Steve shakes his head.

“I _know!_ But I did! It’s… Loki isn’t that person anymore, but not everyone believes that. They said some very unkind things. Anyway, Loki saw I was upset and wanted to know what I was reading and I wouldn’t tell them. Then I took their iPad away so I could put parental controls on it. Which led to _so much_ screaming.” Thor waves his hand and chuckles wearily. “Then, I stayed up most of the night reading every article. Huge mistake. This trial could go very very poorly.”

“Have you spoken to the lawyer recently?”

“I’ve got a meeting with her tomorrow afternoon.”

“I could come along if you want. For moral support.” It wasn’t so long ago that Bucky’s prospects looked as grim as Loki’s. Steve had his own spate of sleepless nights while the government debated trying Bucky as a war criminal. Sam helped him prepare his testimony for the hearings and more importantly was around when Steve needed to vent. Seems like Thor could use the same.

“No, no, you don’t have t— you know what? That would be great. Thank you. Okay Loki, time to go.”

Bucky walks Loki into the living room, propped on the tops of his feet. Steve smiles to himself; Bucky used to do that with his little sisters.

“Loki, I don’t want you leaving the house without telling me.”

“But you were asleep.”

“Then wait for me to wake up or wake me up.”

“You yell when I wake you up.”

“I yelled one time. Because you had a knife.”

“I only wanted to show it to you. It was really pretty.”

“Yes, it was an exceedingly pretty dagger,” Thor agrees. “But it was a tad alarming to wake up to. Come on, let’s go.”

Thor takes Loki by the hand and starts leading them away. Bucky taps Loki on the shoulder and holds out his hand. Loki puffs out their lower lip and pulls Steve’s tablet from the back of their shirt.

“Loki.” Thor sighs.

“I was just borrowing it. I was going to give it back. Can we go to the Lego store today?”

“No.”

“Can we go swimming?”

“Maybe.”

After breakfast, Steve runs laps around the track then spends a few hours reviewing intelligence on a sting operation Natasha is running. He gets lunch with Nat then heads to the field house to work out. Which goes fine until Bucky comes in and starts doing sit-ups. Steve goes back to the house and takes another shower.

He spends the rest of the afternoon working on a scarf for Carol. Bucky comes back from his workout and settles next to him on the couch to read _The Last Unicorn._

“Know what I just got the biggest craving for?” Bucky leans over and drops a kiss under Steve’s ear. Steve’s skin prickles in response.

“Couldn’t guess, Buck.” Steve mumbles.

“Big old pot of Hoover Stew.”

“Okay. We’ve got the ingredients. I’ll make some.”

“I got it. Pretty sure I can do it blindfolded.” They used to stretch a single batch out over a week. Bucky gets up and starts dinner.

Steve runs his hands through his hair. He would sooner set himself on fire than pressure Bucky into something he’s not ready for. He just wishes he knew when Bucky will be ready. Or _if_ he’ll be ready.

“This is gonna be good!” Bucky calls Steve to the table.

Bucky sets down his spoon a few minutes later. “This is not as good as I remember. It’s not bad exactly. It’s just….”

“Boiled tomatoes and hot dogs,” Steve says. Plus soggy corn and even soggier macaroni noodles.

“Was it ever good?”

“I don’t think so. We just didn’t have much to compare it to.”

Bucky stirs at the mush. “But I used to make this to impress my dates.”

“You sure did.”

“How did I ever get a second date?” Bucky laughs.

“You were kind of easy on the eye.” Steve smiles. “Besides, I never ate so well as on your second dates.” The ladies would arrive with heaping platefuls of ‘leftovers’ that were ‘just going to go to waste.’ The fact that the country had barely cleared the Depression was a pretty good testament to Bucky’s appeal. He never failed to make sure Steve got a share.

“Dammit, now all I want is Essie’s matzo ball soup.” Bucky sighs. Esther Silverstein was one of his more serious girlfriends. She was always nice to Steve; Bucky didn’t get serious about the ones who weren’t.

Steve looks up a local deli that delivers and calls in an order. Bucky goes to the main building to wait for the delivery while Steve packs up the remaining stew. They can have a little with each meal until it’s gone.

“Ran into Thor.” Bucky returns with their second attempt at dinner. “I volunteered to watch Loki while you two see the lawyer tomorrow.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“No big deal; I like that kid.” He tries a spoonful of soup. His eyes close and his lips curve into a satisfied smile. “Almost as good as Essie’s.”

“Uh-huh.” Reminiscing about Bucky’s conquests has soured Steve’s mood. Those second date dinners inevitably led to Bucky discretely asking Steve if he minded sleeping on the couch. Steve never refused. Then Bucky and his date would disappear into the bedroom, leaving Steve alone in the sitting room, his heart breaking a little more each time.

“Are you going to finish yours?” Bucky asks a little while later. Steve shakes his head and slides his bowl across the table. “What do you say? Do I get a second date? Even if I can’t impress you with my cooking?”

Steve grunts. He’s reliving those nights on the couch. Tossing and turning and trying not to think about what was happening on the other side of the door.

“Something wrong, Stevie? Don’t tell me my flirting is as bad as my cooking. My ego can’t take another hit.”

“I’m… calling it a night.” Steve fakes a yawn.

“At a quarter to nine?”

“I’m a senior citizen. Good night, Buck.”

“Okay. I’ll do the washing up and join you in a bit.”

“Could you sleep in your room? Just for tonight?”

“Of course. Whatever you want.”

Steve climbs into bed, his whole body rigid with tension. He’s upset at Bucky for hurting his feelings over eighty years ago. It’s not fair because Bucky didn’t know he was doing something to hurt Steve back then. He doesn’t know that he’s still doing it.

_Stop being such a petty shit, Rogers. He set very clear boundaries. Your blue balls weren’t Bucky’s problem in the Forties and they aren’t now either._

Around eleven-thirty, Steve hears footsteps in the hall. The door opens a crack. Steve steadies his breathing but clenches his fist in the sheet. The door closes and the footsteps retreat. Steve relaxes. He wasn’t ignoring Steve’s request, just acting out of habit. Steve hates being this wound up over nothing. He feels like a giant exposed nerve. Hopefully, a good night’s sleep will sort it out.

Steve gets out of bed at half-past four. The harder he tried to get to sleep the more impossible it became. The room was too silent. He pads down the hall to Bucky’s room.

“Buck?” he whispers. No response. Steve steps into the dark room. What is he doing? He can’t just climb into Bucky’s bed without warning. Not a good idea to surprise a PTSD sufferer like that. Steve turns to go. Bucky lets out a quiet whine. Steve looks back at the bed. He can just make out a lump under the covers. Bucky is pressed against the wall. “No,” he mutters. His breathing becoming fast and labored. He’s having a nightmare.

Bucky suddenly thrashes onto his back. "No, please. No!”

Maybe he can calm him down without waking him. He perches on the edge of the bed, gently placing his hand on Bucky’s right shoulder. Bucky shudders. His eyes are squeezed shut and his lips drawn back in a snarl. Steve bites his lip, wondering if this is a nightly occurrence. Has Bucky been having night terrors while Steve slept soundly beside him?

“Stop,” Bucky whimpers. “No. Please. Steve no.”

Steve springs off the bed and bolts into the hall, his heart racing. Bucky is afraid of _him_?

* * *

- _Steve_ -

 

If Bucky is frightened of Steve, he’s awfully good at hiding it. He’s oddly chipper the following morning, humming “Keep on the Sunny Side” while making omelets from freshly collected eggs. Steve doesn’t think it’s an act. Maybe he doesn’t remember the nightmare. Steve doesn’t remember all of his dreams.

Last night, after he got past the shock of hearing his name in Bucky’s shaky panicked voice, he decided he had to ask Bucky about it. Get to the bottom of what he was scared of. But if he really doesn’t remember, maybe Steve should let it go. The last thing he wants is to bring the nightmare to life by confronting him.

So he stays silent and accompanies Thor to see Loki’s defense attorney that afternoon. He does his best to pay attention but he keeps flashing back to Bucky’s terrified face.

The lawyer, Bruce’s cousin, has a three-point plan for Loki’s defense. The first establish that Loki’s invasion of New York was done at Thanos’s command and not without coercion. Secondly, highlight Loki’s role in defeating Thanos. Which means the full story of what happened on Vormir has to be told. Most important, she says, is to demonstrate beyond a shadow of a doubt that Loki is a new being and no longer a threat to Earth.

They go over possible lines of questioning and witnesses she plans to call. Steve agrees to testify about the events on Vormir and be a character witness for Loki’s current state of being. Which does open him up to questioning from the prosecution, making it likely he’ll be asked about fighting against Loki during the New York invasion. The lawyer stresses that he should answer truthfully but only answer the question asked and not elaborate.

She wants Loki to testify on their own behalf but Thor is reluctant. He thinks it’ll be too upsetting. She says she can call all the experts in the world to testify that Loki is now a human child, that is not a trick or an illusion, but the best way is to show them behaving like an honest to goodness child. Even if that means them getting tired or flustered or petulant on the stand.

Steve is grateful that Bucky was never subjected to an open trial. The closed hearings were bad enough. His involvement in many actions that are still classified decades later, kept the details of the hearings under wraps. Bucky also had the benefit of the king of Wakanda offering him asylum. Not to mention the clear implication that convicting Bucky could jeopardize relations between the US and Wakanda.

It also helped that HYDRA/the Red Room kept meticulous records of how they robbed him of his free will. They detailed the methods of conditioning, in hopes of duplicating the results. Reading the files had turned Steve’s stomach, and yet Bucky has mentioned things that don’t appear in the files. Things seemingly done only for the amusement of his handlers. Denying him food, throwing him into a pit with equally starved and abused dogs. What else has Bucky not told him?

Loki has none of those “advantages.” They had done the opposite of keeping a low profile during their attempted conquest of Earth. No case can be made for keeping the trial out of the public eye. There is no record of how Thanos got them to comply with his demands. Establishing the credibility of Loki’s story is probably the most crucial part of the defense.

Technically, Loki also has a king on their side, but New Asgard is a small settlement of alien refugees. It doesn’t have the sway of the fastest growing World Super Power in history. It doesn’t help that Thor is a monarch in name only these days. And he’s hardly objective.

“Feeling any better about the trial?” Steve asks Thor.Ms. Walters has stepped out of the office for a moment.

Thor purses his lips. “A little. It’s a well thought out strategy. It could work. I’m proud of Loki for wanting to take responsibility for their past actions, but I wish I never agreed to let them turn themself in.”

“Have you thought about what you’ll do if they’re found guilty?”

“Loki made me promise to comply with whatever the court decides but…” Thor shakes his head. “Loki is family. The only family I have left. I control the Bifrost. We can leave Earth forever if we have to. My people have a functioning, democratically elected government. They don’t need me anymore. My sibling does. Loki would be cross that I broke my word. I might have to work to earn their trust back, but I’ll take exile over Loki spending the rest of their mortal life in prison. Should I not have told you that? Are you going to lecture me on trusting the justice system?”

“I could, but I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Thor chuckles. “Still, it seems to have worked out for you in the end.”

Steve nods. His current problems seem petty compared to where he and Bucky were a few years ago. The attorney returns with lists of questions Loki may be asked on the stand.

Steve’s phone buzzes. He pulls it from his pocket to see a text message listing his own name as the sender.

_“Hey, scatterbrain. You took my phone.”_

Steve turns the phone over in his palm. Yep, it’s Bucky’s.

_“hello? Stevie?”_

Steve can’t answer, it’s locked. After another minute Bucky figures that out and texts the passcode.

 _“Sorry. Was a little distracted this morning.”_ He’d been preoccupied with worrying over Bucky’s nightmare. _“How are things going with Loki?”_

A few seconds later he receives a picture of Loki hanging from the monkey bars in the compound’s playground. Tony started drawing up plans for the installation the day Pepper announced she was pregnant. Steve doubts little Amelia Stark will ever get to use it.

Another picture appears. A close-up of a ladybug crawling over a metal finger.

The meeting finally wraps up a few hours later. Steve texts Bucky that they’ll be home soon. He closes the messaging app, then out of habit, he starts closing all the open apps to save battery life. It only took him six years to form that habit. Tony would be so proud. He swipes to the next app and nearly drops the phone.

Porn.

A porn site open on Bucky’s phone. A video picks up playing where it must have paused. Three women, naked, writhing, moaning.

Steve shuts off the phone and shoves it in his pocket.

“Ready to go?” Thor asks.

“Uh-huh.” Steve nods. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

“Everything okay, Steve? You look a little flushed.”

“Fine. Good. I’m good. I’m fine.”

“Very convincing. If you’d only said it three times I might not believe you, but four times has the ring of truth.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Steve jabs the call button for the elevator. The casing cracks under his thumb.

“Annnnnd, how about I drive?”

Porn. Bucky is watching porn. Steve doesn’t watch porn. He has no objection to it, assuming no one was harmed or forced to make it, he just doesn’t find it particularly sexy. He has a fertile imagination. In comparison, porn is _dull_.

It shouldn’t be a shock. Bucky had a stash of girlie mags when they were growing up. Why does this feel like such a betrayal?

Bucky is not having sex with Steve, but Bucky is watching porn.

Not just porn. Porn without a man in sight. He’s not having sex with Steve because Steve is not what he wants.

Why would Bucky say he loves Steve if he doesn’t? Is he afraid of hurting Steve’s feelings? He thinks Steve can’t handle the rejection? So he’s faking his way through the relationship? Faking it up to a point. Is that what the nightmare was about? He’s afraid Steve will call his bluff?

They reach the compound and walk toward Thor and Loki’s house. Steve has barely said a word. He has no idea how to handle this. He doesn’t want a big confrontation. Whatever Bucky’s reasons, he doesn’t think it’s malicious. He doesn’t want to upset him. Or trigger another storm. On the other hand, he’s taken bullets to the gut that hurt less.

As they approach the house, laughter drifts from the open window.

“Guess they’re having a good time.” Thor smiles.

“Wait!” They hear Bucky shout, then the sound of grinding metal. Thor runs for the front door, Steve on his heels. They burst into the living room. Loki streaks through the swinging door to the kitchen and freezes.

“It was an accident!” Loki yelps and bolts for the stairs.

“Loki!” Thor tears after them.

“Buck?” Steve enters the kitchen. Bucky stands at the kitchen sink, his Vibranium arm stuck in the groaning garbage disposal.

“Hey, Stevie. Little help?”

“What the hell happened?”

“Funny story. I’ll tell it when I’m not being eaten by an appliance.”

Steve turns off the disposal.

“Thanks. I can’t free the arm without tearing the whole sink out. Can you try unscrewing the disposal from the bottom?”

Steve finds a toolkit under the sink. He gets on his back and starts loosening bolts. The underside of the disposal gives way. Steve gets a faceful of water for his trouble. He tugs at the mangled blades.

“Careful! I can feel that, you know.”

“Can’t be helped, Buck.” He bends a blade back, nicking his thumb in the process. “Dammit!”

“That did it.” Bucky wriggles his arm out. Something small and pointy falls out of the drain, hitting Steve in the eye.

“Ow!” He scoots out from under the sink, rubbing his eye.

“Look at that. Not a scratch!” Bucky flexes his hand.

“Very happy for you,” Steve mutters.

Thor enters the kitchen and starts mopping up the leaking water with a towel.

“Sorry about the mess.” Bucky gestures to the pieces of disposal on the floor. “And the… destruction.”

“It’s fine. Loki explained.”

“Is your hand okay?” Loki asks.

“Oh yeah. It’s pretty much indestructible.” He holds out the arm for Loki to inspect.

“Alright, Loki write down what you learned.” Thor hands the child a marker. They walk to an easel with a pad of paper sitting in the corner. Loki carefully writes _"garbage disposals are not toys,”_ on the first available space. Just above that is written, _“tell Thor when I leave the house.“_ Over that, it says, _“having Thor's credit card is not the same as having permission.”_ Which sits under _“NO TOUCHING KNIVES EVER.”_

Steve and Bucky leave. On the way back to their house, Bucky launches into the story of how he got stuck. “We were playing with some toy boats in the sink. Loki decided there should be a hurricane and flipped on the disposal. This little plastic submarine got sucked in and, like an idiot, I shoved my hand in the drain. I literally thought ‘uh oh, that’ll break it.’ So in goes my hand.” He laughs.

“At least you used the left hand.”

“Well yeah. I’m stupid but not jump out of a plane without a chute stupid.”

“Uh-huh,” Steve nods.

“I was talking about you. You’re that kind of stupid.”

“I got that.”

“Do you still have my phone?”

Steve slams it into his palm. Bucky startles back. He takes Steve’s phone from his pocket and offers it to him warily.

“I don’t really think you’re stupid. You know that, right? You’re reckless sometimes but I didn’t mean to… Did I touch a nerve?”

“You think?” Steve snaps and instantly regrets it. “No. Just a bad mood. A submarine fell in my eye.”

“Reminds me of the old days actually.” Bucky smiles. “You were a moody little guy. It’s adorable.” He reaches for Steve’s hand, but Steve shoves it in his pocket. He clamps his lips shut, willing himself to not say something he can’t take back.

“Got something you want to say, Stevie?” Bucky asks, an edge to his voice. “‘Cause call me crazy but I don’t think this is about a tiny plastic toy.”

Steve keeps walking.

“If I did something, tell me,” Bucky calls from behind, not trying to catch up. “Fine. Wait another eight decades to tell me. That worked out great last time.”

Steve whirls around to face him. “Are you straight?”

“…the fuck?” Bucky’s face contorts in confusion. “I’m in a relationship with you.”

Steve takes a deep breath. This is exactly what he didn’t want to do. “It’s possible to love someone without wanting to have sex with them. If that’s what’s going on, I just want to know. So I can adjust my—“

“Why would I lie about that?” Bucky interrupts.

“I’m not calling you a liar. Maybe you said it because you knew I wanted to hear it. And you were trying to protect me because that’s what you do.”

“You really think I’d do that to you?”

“You can’t even look at me when I kiss you.”

“It’s the eye contact! I told you about that.”

“I know. I know. I’m… confused, Buck. You had a nightmare and it seemed like you were afraid of me.”

“Of you?” He scoffs. “No.”

“You said ’No Steve.’ Like I was doing something you didn’t—”

“Oh, Jesus that’s…” He pinches his forehead. “That dream, it’s not you that I’m scared of. It’s… I’m reliving it all. Falling from the train, becoming the soldier, but it’s not happening to me. It’s happening to you.”

“Oh.” Steve feels the blood drain from his face. “I’m sorry, Buck. I thought…”

“Yeah, obviously. Should’ve asked.”

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Nailed it.”

“Yeah. But… are you attracted to me or not?”

“For fuck's sake! Stevie, I _love_ you.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re attracted to me.”

Bucky lets out a frustrated groan. He runs a hand through his hair. “You think I don’t want you?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes, the way you touch me, I think you do. But then… We don’t have sex. I saw… I saw the porn on your phone,” Steve mutters.

“Porn on my pho… fuck.” Bucky’s shoulders slump. “It’s not that I’m not attracted to you. I want you. I want you more than I’ve wanted anything in my whole life but….”

“But?”

“HYDRA.”

“HYDRA,” Steve repeats. “Did they do something to you?”

“They did a lot of things to me.” His whole body radiates misery.

“I mean, did they…”

“Did they rape me?”

Steve nods.

“No.” Bucky shakes his head. “No. They just took it away.”

“Took what?”

“Sex. Desire. They took it. They didn’t want me getting distracted by animal urges. So they erased it. The same way they erased my name. As far as I knew, I didn’t exist below the waist.”

“Oh god,” Steve whispers. They stole sex from him. Of all the possible violations he’d imagined, that never occurred to him.

“I _want_ to do more than kiss you. I _can’t_. I thought since everything else was coming back, my memories, my emotions, that would too. But it hasn’t. I’ve tried. The porn. I’ve looked at women, men, even these weird cartoons that Barton mentioned once. My body doesn’t respond.  _Nothing_ is happening down there.”

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“Yeah, the plumbing is fine.” He flicks a tear from his cheek.

“What does Shuri say?”

“I never told her.”

“Seriously? Why the hell not?”

“She’s a genius but she’s like my little sister. I’m not going to talk to her about my….” He gestures toward his fly. “Besides, it wasn’t the priority. Anyone, _anyone_ , could hijack my brain with a handful of words. I didn’t care that I couldn’t get it up. Most of the time I didn’t even remember it was an issue.” He bites his lip.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” They’d filled an entire notebook with things Bucky thought might be a problem but _this_ he kept to himself?

Bucky’s jaw clenches. “I hoped I wouldn’t have to. That it would just happen. That’s why I asked for time.”

“Well, okay. Maybe it will happen. Or maybe there are things we can—”

“Steve, stop. I can’t talk about this anymore tonight. I don’t want to make an action plan to fix my dick. I just want to go to bed.”

“Okay.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW. Here be smut!

- _Bucky_ -

For the next few days, Bucky is numb. He takes care of the chickens and does his chore rotation on autopilot. When he has nothing to occupy him, he sits and stares into the distance.

At first Steve tries to get him to talk but eventually, he takes the hint and leaves him alone. Steve thinks he’s angry, but Bucky is too drained and disappointed in himself to feel much of anything. Disappointed because his body isn’t capable of what he desperately wants it to do, but mostly disappointed because he didn’t see that Steve was miserable.

He should have seen it. He used to read Steve like a book. That’s what he thought. If it was true it wouldn’t have taken three-quarters of a century to find out how Steve felt about him.

He should call Shuri or try to engage with Steve. He can’t. He’s paralyzed. He doesn’t trust himself not to fuck up again.

He worked so hard these last couple of months to make Steve happy. To demonstrate just what he means to him. The one time he tried to put it into words it came out awkward and muddled and he was talking to a Skrull anyway. He simply can’t express the depth of his feelings. He tried to communicate it in other ways. He kissed Steve every chance he got, touched and petted and held him, hoping what? Steve would absorb the truth through his skin? Instead, he’d left Steve feeling toyed with.

All because he couldn’t admit that his libido is MIA. Every single time he considered telling Steve, he crashed into a wall of shame and anxiety. So he waited, hoping the problem would go away on its own. _Idiot_. When have his problems ever gone away on their own?

If he can’t shake off this malaise he’s going to push Steve away completely, but clawing his way out from under it is too huge a task. He’ll have to start small by getting off his ass.

Steve is visiting a VA hospital with Sam. For some reason, Steve being away makes mobilizing a little easier. Bucky heads to the field house. He needs to do something active. The other residents of the compound come and go while Bucky works his muscles until they burn. He’s doing another rep of pull-ups when Romanoff appears in front of him.

“Clint and I are going to take down a cadre of HYDRA weapons dealers. You in?”

Bucky drops from the bar; a smile spreading across his face.

A few hours later, he’s in a private aircraft hanger beating the shit out of a half a dozen HYDRA grunts. Romanoff spent weeks convincing them that she was still loyal to HYDRA and working as a mole inside the Avengers. That Barton was so besotted with her he’d do whatever she asked. She claimed she needed the weapons to arm new operatives she’d recruited. She even told them she had the Winter Soldier under her control. Appearing to be a vacant, compliant killing machine was easy in his current state. Once they’d loaded the merchandise onto the private jet SHEILD hired for the operation, Romanoff gave the signal and they got to the fun part. Namely putting the hurt on every last HYDRA scumbag in the facility.

Bucky doesn’t get a rush from violence. Unless the world is on the line, unless Steve needs him, he’s happy staying out of the line of fire. Most of the time, but right now it feels good to direct his rage at something concrete and deserving.

“We’ve got a runner,” Barton says through Bucky’s earpiece. Bucky throws his last opponent into the wall and runs after the escaping agent. It’s the ringleader. She comes from the same program as Romanoff so it’s no surprise when she pivots and lands a punch to Bucky’s ear that sends him reeling. He recovers and they trade blows. He could kill her with very little effort, but he doesn’t do that anymore. He gets her into a headlock and she slams her heel on his instep. It hurts like Hell but Bucky keeps hold of her. Judging by her reaction, it’s the first time that move hasn’t worked. She twists and aims her foot at his crotch. That one works. Bucky keels over.

He struggles to get back up. She’s got a good fifteen-foot lead before he gets to one knee. An arrow flies past him and a weighted rope winds around her, dropping her to the ground.

Bucky sinks back to the ground. **“That you can feel?”** he mutters in Russian. **“Traitorous bastards.”**

“Were you just talking to your balls?” Barton stands over him.

“No.” Bucky takes the archer’s offered hand.

“You called them traitors.”

“You speak Russian?”

 **“What, your testicles can speak Russian, but I can’t?”** he says in a perfect Moskovski accent. He helps Bucky onto the private plane while Romanoff collects the felled ringleader.

Bucky falls into a recliner. Romanoff gives him a pitying look.

Barton pours two drinks from the stocked bar then twists a scoop of ice into a cloth napkin. He hands one drink to Romanoff and holds out the ice. “You need this. If she hits half as hard as Nat you’re going to be walking funny for days.”

“Great.” Bucky grimaces and positions the ice.

The plane taxis onto the runway and they’re soon airborne.

“You should tell Steve to keep his hands to himself for a while,” Barton says once they’ve leveled off and he can be heard over the engines.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Bucky lets his neutral mask slip into place. Like this is a topic of conversation he’s perfectly comfortable with.

Romanoff glances at him over the rim of her glass. _Fuck. Steve told her. Fuck_. Bucky groans and rolls onto his side.

“It’s not that bad. You’ll be going at it again in a week or so.” Barton laughs.

“Clint,” Romanoff says casually.

“What?” Barton asks, sounding scolded.

“He told you,” Bucky whispers.

“Told her what?” Barton asks.

“He didn’t. Didn’t need to. It’s obvious.”

“It’s obvious?” Bucky repeats, horrified.

“What’s obvious?” Barton’s head swivels between them.

“I’m fucking with you. It’s not obvious.” Romanoff pats his shoulder. “Steve told me.”

“Fuck.” Bucky covers his face with his hands.

“You know what? I don’t care. I’ll go have a cryptic conversation with May.” Barton slams down his glass and stomps into the cockpit.

“Look,” Romanoff says once the door is closed, “he didn’t want to tell me. I tricked him. I could tell that something wasn’t right between you two. If it makes you feel better, I thought you’d been compromised and were a danger to him. I was not expecting to hear about what was happening, or rather not happening, in the bedroom.”

Surprisingly, it does make him feel a little better. It’s good to know that she’s watching Steve’s back. Even against him.

“It’s not his fault that I’m nosy and manipulative. Anyway, I—Hang on a sec.” She leans over and picks up Barton’s glass. She flicks something off the bottom then picks it up with the pad of her index finger. “Really, Clint?”

The cockpit door slides open. “If you didn't want me to feel excluded, you shouldn’t have excluded me. I can’t help it if _I’m nosey and manipulative._ ” Barton shrugs and reenters the cabin. “You’re getting sloppy, Nat. Time was you would’ve noticed the bug before I even stood up.”

“You’re right.” She frowns. “I’m way too trusting these days.”

“So, you’re impotent?” Barton perches on Bucky’s armrest. “Bummer.”

Bucky doesn’t respond. He is seriously considering pulling a Steve and making an unscheduled jump with or without a chute. Unfortunately, he’s in too much pain to do more than curl further into himself.

“How do you do that?” Barton asks a little while later. “Have absolutely no expression like that?”

“Practice,” Bucky replies.

“It’s creepy.”

“Good.”

Barton brings him another napkin of ice and a tumbler of scotch.

“Alcohol has no effect on me,” Bucky says.

“You’ve got a limp dick and you can’t even drink. That’s the saddest thing I’ve heard all day.”

“Would you kindly fuck off.”

“Oh sure, sure. I get it, you don’t want to open up. After all, I might start to see you as a human being who’s been through something truly awful. Wouldn’t want that. Oh, look, an actual expression! Nat, what would you call that one?”

“Murderous.”

“Progress!”

What is wrong with these two? It’s been a long time since anyone gave him such a hard time. Not even Sam has tried to get under his skin like this. Don’t they know how dangerous he is? Of course they do. They’re showing him they trust that he won’t go off, even when provoked. _Assholes_. No wonder Steve likes them.

“We are stuck on this plane for another hour or so. Nat and I already know about your little problem. So if you want to talk....”

“And unlike your boyfriend, we have no personal stake one way or the other,” Romanoff adds. “Also, we’re professional spies and, despite all evidence to the contrary, capable of keeping secrets.”

“If…if I talk to you, will you both shut up and leave me alone for the rest of the flight?”

“Probably,” says Romanoff.

“Possibly,” says Barton.

Bucky considers it. Chances are if he refuses, they’ll spend the remainder of the flight coming up with new ways to torment him. To his surprise, the desire to get them off his back is slightly stronger than his urge to crawl into his own grave. He tells them.

“Oh. Oh wow. That sucks.” Barton shakes his head. “So why aren’t you and Steve having sex?”

“I just told you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You told us. No wind in your sails. But that’s no reason you can’t have sex if you want to. If you don’t, that's a different story but it really seems like you do.”

“I… Barton what?”

“Barnes, do you really need us to spell it out?” Romanoff narrows her eyes.

“Um… No?” Bucky knows he should understand what they’re getting at but he’s lost. “Would you like to spell it out, maybe?”

She laughs and for once sounds unrehearsed.

“Did Steve tell you that I’m deaf?” Barton asks.

“No. You are?”

“I’ve got hearing aids and I’m an exceptionally good lipreader. Generally, people only know if I want them to know.”

“Okay. And?”

“And, I know there’s not a one to one correlation here, but I got much happier once I stopped focusing on what no longer worked and embraced what still did.”

Bucky contemplates it. “Oh.”

“Uh-huh. He’s got it.” Romanoff nods.

“Thank god. Thought I’d have to resort to the olive trick.”

“You love the olive trick,” she says with a fond chuckle.

“I really do. Okay, buddy, we’ll leave you alone now.”

Bucky feels like the biggest fucking idiot in the world. Of course, there are things he and Steve can do despite his limitations. He never considered them because he was waiting for his body to behave the way it used to. The idea of Steve finding out was so depressing that sex, any kind of sex, became impossible. But Steve did find out.

Good as their word, they leave him in peace until the plane touches down in New York. Bucky turns down Barton’s offer to help him back to the house. A decision he comes to regret after walking forty feet leaves him winded and nauseous. He doesn’t know how he’s going to make it the rest of the way.

He’s still 200 feet from home when the front door opens and Steve emerges. He dashes to Bucky’s side and slips his arm under Bucky’s good shoulder.

“Nat said you were injured.” His face is tight with concern.

“I took a hit to the groin.”

Steve winces in empathy. “I’ve got you.” He scoops Bucky up and carries him into the house, depositing him carefully on the sofa. “Can I get you something? Ice? Food?”

Bucky clasps Steve’s hand and tugs on it.

Steve crouches, taking care not to make direct eye contact. He brushes a lock of hair out of Bucky’s eyes. “Yeah?”

“Come here please.” Bucky opens his arms and scoots back to the cushions. The sofa is barely big enough for him alone, but Steve squeezes in. They lay together, arms wrapped around each other, legs intertwined. It doesn’t feel great on Bucky’s bruised crotch, but the discomfort is offset by Steve’s reassuring bulk. Bucky rests his head on Steve’s chest, tears soaking into his shirt. “I did everything wrong.”

“Oh,” Steve says, his voice breaking, “that’s what I was going to say.” He gently strokes Bucky’s back.

“Stevie, if you’re unhappy, if _I’m_ making you unhappy, I need you to tell me. ‘Cause clearly I won’t know on my own.”

“I didn’t want you to know.” Steve runs his knuckles down Bucky’s cheek.

“Don’t do that. Don’t protect me from my screw-ups. I’ll only feel shittier when I find out.”

“But you didn’t screw up. It was me. I came to all the wrong conclusions. I don’t want there to be anything you can’t tell me. I’m sorry I made you feel there was.”

“You shouldn’t have to carry all of my problems.”

“Yes, I should. Your problems are my problems, Buck. And vice versa. It’s always been that way.” Steve squeezes him tighter.

“Hypocrite.” Bucky smiles and shakes his head. “How many times did I tell you that? And how many times did you insist you didn’t need my help?”

“As many times as you went and helped me anyway.” Steve laughs.

Bucky returns the squeeze. “I love you so much. I’m terrified I’m going to ruin your life.”

“Buck, you make my life.” Steve murmurs into his hair.

“Steve?” Bucky asks after a few minutes of silence.

“Uh-huh?”

“I never want this to end, but my balls still hurt so much I think I’m going to die.”

“Right! I’ll get you some ice!” Steve extricates his legs and stands up.

Bucky flinches at the movement. “Thank you.”

Steve comes back with an icepack and a glass of water.

“What would you say if I killed Romanoff and Barton?”

“That they probably deserved it, but please don’t.”

“What about just Barton?”

“Uh… Same answer but I might have to think a little harder about it.”

“Okay. I’ll let them live. For you.”

* * *

 

- _Bucky_ -

“Why are you doing this to me?” Steve groans.

“It’s not that bad. Is it?” Bucky asks, pressing a kiss behind Steve’s ear.

“I hate it,” he whines. “How much longer?”

“Another hour and a half at least,” Romanoff answers. “We haven’t even gotten to the war yet.”

Steve makes an unhappy sound and glares at the TV. They’re gathered in the main building to celebrate Steve’s birthday/the Fourth of July. They’ve already watched _The Captain America Story_ , a movie made about a decade after Steve’s “death.” It’s a beloved holiday tradition for the team. Steve sat through it with minimal grumbling. They’ve moved on to _The First Avenger_ and Steve isn’t handling it with the same grace. It’s based on a biography that was published while he was still frozen but only came out last year.

“You should’ve let me set my lawyers on them when I offered,” says the empty Iron Man suit seated between Peter Parker and Bruce Banner.

“I had other things on my mind,” Steve mumbles. It went into production after the Snap. From what Bucky has gathered, Steve was all-consumed with defeating Thanos and undoing his alterations to the universe.

Steve has been complaining since the second the studio logo faded. Bucky is kind of enjoying the film, or at least the ten minutes they’ve made it through. The production clearly put a lot of money into recreating Depression-era Brooklyn. They’ve watched **_Steve_** grow from a constantly coughing child actor to a big-name star’s head pasted onto a scrawny stand-in’s body. It’s a decent effect. If Bucky hadn’t seen the same actor in a splashy sci-fi flick just last week, he wouldn’t have known.

“I was not that small!” Steve huffs. **_Steve_** is walking down a New York street, the faces of the other pedestrians are all above the camera line. If anything, they’ve not made him look small enough but Bucky knows better than to say it out loud. Steve shifts position, inadvertently jabbing Bucky in the ribs. They’re stretched out together on a single couch. Bucky reaches over and steadies the popcorn bowl resting on Steve’s stomach.

“Doesn’t look anything like me,” Steve mutters. The actor is jostled by a passerby, mirroring the scowl on the real Steve’s face.

The scene cuts to a long shot of the Statue of Liberty that then zooms in to a close up of the crown and **_Steve’s_** face sticking out of a window.

“Wait, seriously?” Bucky scoffs. “That’s 20 stories. He had asthma, he couldn’t climb all those stairs.”

“Not to mention that no one who lives in New York goes to the Statue of Liberty!” Steve chimes in.

“I went on a school trip once,” Peter says.

“I can’t hear,” Sam scolds.

The scene cuts to the inside of the statue. A blandly good looking young man is sitting against the wall, panting. **_Steve_** slides down next to him.

 **“I can’t believe you made me carry you up all 20 stories, Steve.”** The other actor shakes his head.

**“I never said you had to, Bucky.”**

“That’s supposed to be me?” Bucky gawks. “I carried him up all those stairs? I’m a goddamn saint.”

“Hold the phone! They got Chris Pine for Cap and Zac Efron as Buckbeack? And all I got was a miniseries starring Patrick Dempsey?” STARK bemoans.

“You own it on blu-ray,” Bruce says.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t good. It was prestige television, but HBO could’ve sprung for an A-lister. A Clooney or a DiCaprio or something.”

“Some of us are actually trying to watch this.” Wanda clears her throat.

 **“So, what did you want to tell me?”** **_Bucky_** asks.

 ** _Steve_** says he’s joining the army and **_Bucky_** tries to talk him out of it. Then **_Steve_** makes a speech about being on the right side of history.

“Are you kidding me?” Steve explodes. “We took three trains and walked a half an hour and then climbed to the top of the Statue of Liberty to have a conversation we could’ve had in the living room?”

“Rogers, are we going to have to kick you out of your own birthday party?” Romanoff asks. “Again?”

Steve shuts his mouth.

In the next scene, they’re both in line at an enlistment office. If only it had happened that way. Bucky was going to enlist, it was the right thing to do, but he kept putting it off. How was his family supposed to get by without the money he gave them every week? What would happen to Steve? He couldn’t afford the rent on his own. What about the next time someone decided to rough him up, but Bucky wasn’t around to defend him? Or if he got sick again? Bucky kept telling himself he’d enlist next week, right until he got the notice from the draft board.

Steve stays quiet for the next few scenes, which are more or less accurate. **_Steve_** tries and fails to enlist multiple times. **_Bucky_** and **_Steve_** go on one last night on the town before he ships out. Though they spend it at a dancehall instead of at the Stark Expo. **_Steve_** asks a girl to dance and gets shot down. Bucky approaches, using a handkerchief to wipe a couple of different shades of lipstick from his cheek. Bucky shakes his head. He liked the ladies but he was more of a gentleman than that.

 ** _Steve_** and **_Bucky_** trade barbs about their luck or lack of it with the opposite sex. Was Bucky really that cocky? Maybe, but that confidence is as gone as Ebbets Field.

 ** _Bucky_** and **_Steve_** say their goodbyes and it’s clear that both are putting on a brave face for the other. Then **_Steve_** gets recruited into the SSR as a test subject and ** _Peggy Carter_** makes her entrance into the story. She’s played by an English actress, Emily something, that Bucky has seen in a few other films. She’s nearly as impressive as the real thing. Bucky didn’t get to know Peggy as well as Steve did, but seeing her in action was awe-inspiring. Bucky doesn’t know why the army bothered with Steve when they could’ve given the serum and shield to her.

Speaking of the serum, **_Steve_** is being shut into what looks like a souped-up iron lung. Ironic since Polio is one of the few diseases Steve managed to avoid. Bucky has mixed feelings about the super-soldier program. The least of which is that it got tainted and twisted and used to rob Bucky of everything that made him who he was. That would’ve happened whether or not Steve volunteered for the first dose. The treatment undoubtedly saved Steve’s life. For as long as Bucky knew Steve, he knew he might lose him much too soon. And he knew when he went overseas, that even if he survived the war, Steve might not. In the end, Bucky lost everyone except Steve.

So yes, Bucky thanks God for Doctor Erskine and the SSR, but it was such a risk. There was no guarantee it wouldn’t kill him. Bucky hates that Steve thought so little of himself that he’d gamble his life for the chance to change his body.

But the gamble paid off. There’s cheering and whistles when **_Steve_** emerges from the machine, his chiseled muscles gleaming.

“He really bulked up,” Hope says, appreciatively.

“Oh dear god! I had pants!” Steve throws his hands in the air. **_Steve_** does not have pants, though nothing too scandalous is visible thanks to some strategic camera angles.

“Damn Steve, cover up!” Sam teases.

“I think the pants were disintegrated by all the science,” says Clint.

“That’s not how science works. It’s a movie myth,” Bruce adds. “Pants are surprisingly durable in real life.”

“It’s just indecent,” Steve mutters.

“But Steve, you took your pants off in front of me five minutes after we first met,” Scott says.

“He did?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah, you were there.”

“Oh Berlin, right.” They all changed out of their street clothes in a parking garage. Bucky was too worried about what they were about to face to be concerned with modesty.

There’s a brief glimpse of **_Steve’s_** left asscheek as he finally pulls on a pair of pants. Then **_Doctor Erskine_** is assassinated. The assassin runs and **_Steve_** gives chase. The chase ends with the assassin holding **_Peggy_** at gunpoint. Steve knocks him out with a well-thrown manhole cover.

“That never happened!” Steve’s voice drips with outrage. “If it had, she wouldn’t have needed me to save her.”

“But you would’ve tried to anyway,“ Bucky says, through a mouthful of popcorn. Steve shoots him a betrayed look and stands up. “At least leave the popcorn.” Steve turns over the bowl, spilling it on Bucky’s lap. “If you think I won’t still eat it, you’re wrong.”

Steve settles onto the carpet and begins helping Loki color a page of their “Incredible Hulk and Friends” coloring book.

The movie is beginning to drag as **_Steve_** goes on a USO tour and continues to flirt with **_Peggy_** , despite real Steve pointing out that Peggy should be overseas. It picks up again when **_Steve_** liberates the 107th and is reunited with **_Bucky_**. Bucky was expecting this part to be difficult to watch but it’s just another action scene. The movie is more interested in establishing **_the Red Skull_** as the antagonist, despite him not appearing in the first hour of the film. **_Peggy_** needs rescuing a few more times. Steve’s objections get more irate each time.

“Ooh, I think this is where I die.” Bucky sits up straight, watching as **_Bucky_** and **_Steve_** fight faceless baddies on a speeding train. “Yep.” **_Bucky_** is sucked through a broken door while **_Steve_** grapples for him. There’s a very wide shot of a person falling away from the camera and then a cut back to a devastated **_Steve_** , framed in the door.

Sam pauses the film. “Doing okay, Bucko?”

“Are you kidding? That was great.”

“What?”

Bucky checks his watch. “23 whole minutes of screen time. I wasn’t even in the black and white one. At least that Efron kid didn’t flash his ass.”

Steve blinks a few times then starts to laugh. He cranes his head back and howls, clutching at his side. 

They resume watching the movie, with only one more outburst from Steve when it’s implied that **_Peggy_** and **_Steve_** spent the night together.

“But we never! How dare they!”

 ** _The Red Skull_** is dispensed with and soon **_Steve_** is trapped in a diving plane with a bomb. Steve has gone very quiet. He’s looking at the screen but Bucky can tell he’s seeing something else. He’s gone glassy-eyed, the blue crayon in his hand has snapped in half. Bucky’s first thought is to insist on turning off the TV, but calling attention to it will just embarrass Steve. So he slides to the floor and inches over to Steve. Luckily it’s dark and everyone seems engrossed with the action on the screen. He laces his metal fingers through Steve’s. Steve startles then exhales, some of the tension draining from his posture. Bucky squeezes his hand. “That was a long time ago,” he whispers. “You’re here now.” He takes their clasped hands and places them over his heart. “Right here.”

Steve’s breathing normally by the time the credits roll.

The party moves to the rooftop patio. Bucky is pissed that it didn’t occur to Steve’s friends that watching a reenactment of one of the worst moments of his life was maybe a bad idea. Though since they watch _the Captain America Story_ every year and all it triggers is complaints about how bad it is, he can’t blame them for not predicting the effect a more vivid and intense depiction would have. Honestly, Bucky didn’t expect it either. He’s usually the one getting smacked in the face by his trauma, he didn’t see that Steve has triggers of his own.

Be that as it may, Steve is much quicker to bounce back than Bucky. He’s in high spirits, grinning and joking as he opens birthday presents from the team. Bucky already gave Steve his gifts over breakfast. Bucky gave Steve far too many gifts. He gets a minor thrill from spending money these days. He no longer has to worry if buying something on impulse means going without something else. So for the last few weeks, whenever he saw something Steve would like, he bought it. He didn’t notice how much he’d gotten until he got them out to wrap. A cashmere coat, a book of short stories, several skeins of yarn, a deluxe pack of drawing pencils, a 3D puzzle of the Brooklyn Bridge, a new pair of slippers, and a garlic house.

Steve was taken aback by the size of the pile but said he loved all of it. Except for the garlic house. He didn’t understand the garlic house. To be fair, Bucky barely understands the garlic house. He’d gone on a grocery run at the organic Co-op that Steve prefers. He spotted a shelf of little ceramic houses with wooden roofs. He dismissed them as birdhouses and kept shopping. On the way out the door, he passed the shelf again which is when he saw the words “garlic house.” He picked one up and read the label. A house for _garlic_. A _house_ for garlic. It even had windows “for ventilation.”

On the drive back to the compound, the words “a house for garlic” rattled around his head. Half a mile from home he pulled over and laughed for thirty minutes. Someone made a home for a head of garlic. People care if garlic can breathe. This is the world he lives in now. Every time he was nearly back to normal he’d think about the little windows or the tiny chimney and the laughter would bubble over again. It was an emotion storm, though a small one. Once Bucky calmed down he drove back to the store, replaced the ice cream that melted in the trunk, and plunked down $25 for a garlic house.

“Why can’t we keep our garlic in a bowl?” Steve asked after he unwrapped it.

“No idea.” Bucky grinned. “But now it has a house.”

“Okay.” Steve set it on the counter and added garlic to the grocery list.

In comparison, the presents from his teammates are pretty ordinary. He seems most excited by the racing kite that Thor and Loki gave him. With the presents out of the way, they move onto the food. Bucky loads his plate with ribs and burgers and hot dogs. Then fills up another with chicken wings and potato salad and deviled eggs. Bucky gives himself over to sublime gluttonous excess. The cake is brought out, an enormous sheet-cake with the words “Happy Birthday (Captain) America!” written across the top.

The sun sets, which means it’s time for fireworks. It’s a spectacular display. The pyrotechnics are courtesy of Stark Industries. Doctor Strange put a muffling charm on them since explosions are not everyone’s favorite thing. At least they thought of that. Bucky was worried the chickens would get spooked, despite all his research saying they probably wouldn’t notice. He shut them in their coop early anyway.

Fifteen minutes into the planned forty-minute display, Bucky is bored and his stomach is rumbling again. Steve is still transfixed by the pretty lights so Bucky slips away to the food tables without disturbing him.

He should take it easy after his binge. He forgoes another slice of cake and dishes himself a bowl of fruit salad. It only takes a few bites to realize his mistake. Cantaloupe. His stomach churns. He sprints into the stairwell, hoping he can make it to the bathroom in time.

It all comes back up, everything, not just the fruit salad. The contents of his stomach splatter onto the landing below. Bucky slumps onto the stairs, his body shaking. Images of broken skulls and cracked melons swimming before him. He wretches a few more times.

“Fuck,” he groans. If Steve finds out he’s going to cut the party short to take care of him. Bucky won’t let that happen. He has to clean it all up but the smell is making his eyes water. No, no, it’s not the smell, he’s just crying. _Damnit!_

“Would you look at this,” Sam’s voice comes from the flight above. “I knew your stomach would explode one of these days, the way you pack it…” he trails off. Bucky chokes back a sob, but the acoustics in the stairwell create an echo.

“Oh, it’s like that.” He joins Bucky on the concrete steps. Bucky presses his palms to his eyes, trying to force the tears back in.

“You want me to get Steve?”

Bucky shakes his head.

“What do you need?”

“For one fucking day not to be derailed by my bullshit hang-ups.” Bucky hiccups.

Sam claps him on the back. “Day isn’t over yet, Barnes. Doesn’t have to be derailed.”

“Look at this.”

“Yeah, it’s disgusting. Go clean yourself up and I’ll deal with it.”

“Really?”

“Really, but hurry up. I can only be nice to you for so long.”

Bucky gets up and shakily makes his way down the stairs. He heads toward the communal bathroom but pauses when he hears angry voices coming from around a corner.

“I didn’t say that!” Wanda shouts.

“But that’s what you meant!” Vision yells back.

Bucky retreats. Those two have been arguing a lot lately. Even Bucky who almost never spends time with anyone but Steve has noticed. He decides to go back to the house instead. He changes clothes and brushes his teeth three times.

“Buck?” Steve calls from the living room.

“Here.” He goes to the top of the stairs.

“You okay? Sam said you didn’t feel well.” Steve climbs the stairs.

“I’m fine now. There was cantaloupe in the fruit salad. I threw up. A lot.”

“What?” Steve frowns. “Those idiots! They all know not to bring cantaloupe to group events. I told all of them—Oh no. I’m the idiot.” He slaps his forehead. “Doctor Strange brought the fruit salad. I never told him. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Stevie. It’s okay.” Now that he’s gotten away from the smell it doesn’t feel like such a big deal. Bucky pulls Steve to him and kisses his forehead. “I just want you to have a good birthday. In fact, I have another present for you.”

“Another one?” Steve lets Bucky lead him into the bedroom. “Better than the garlic house?”

“Nothing is better than the garlic house but I wanted to do something special.” He pulls Steve close to him, almost like they’re dancing. “Because it’s your birthday. And I love you. I thought we could….” Bucky loses his nerve for a second. How did he use to do this?

“What?” Steve looks confused.

“You’re a really beautiful dame and— you’re not a dame sorry. I mean I want to make you feel good, sweethe— Shit, is sweetheart okay? Should it be something masculine? Buddy?”

“Buck, you trying to seduce me?” Steve laughs.

“Yeah.” Bucky hides his face in Steve’s shoulder. “I’m a little rusty, sorry.” It used to come so easy to him. He had moves, didn’t he?

“Wait. Really? You actually want to… uh… seduction?” Steve stutters.

“Yeah.” Trying to be smooth is getting him nowhere. Better just fucking say it. “How about a blowjob, Stevie?”

“I thought you don’t— you can’t?”

“Not me, Rogers, you. Would you like me to suck your dick?”

Steve’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “Do you want to suck my dick? You don’t have to.”

“I know that. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to. It’s been pointed out to me that we don’t need a hard-on to have sex. I mean for me to— I know you can and should and—”

Steve kisses him, allowing Bucky to stop trying to string words together. Before the war, Bucky was no stranger to oral sex. He liked being on the receiving end, but he liked having a woman squirming under his tongue just as much. He kept it off the table all these weeks because he was afraid of Steve wanting to reciprocate.

Bucky gently pushes Steve into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Steve pulls off his shirt. Bucky gets on his knees between Steve’s legs. Steve is already breathing heavy and they haven’t even done anything yet. Bucky tugs Steve’s shorts and underwear down. Steve kicks them the rest of the way. He leans back, as Bucky runs his hand up his thigh.

Bucky places a kiss on Steve’s inner thigh and hears Steve’s breath hitch in response. He takes Steve’s cock in his hand, eliciting another gasp. He works it between his real hand and the metal one. Steve swells.

“What were you going to call me next? After buddy? Mister?” Steve asks, his voice playful. “Sir?”

“Listen punk, you got a choice. Do you want to keep busting my chops? Or do you want your dick sucked?”

“Both was my pla— oh!” Steve sighs

Bucky has the head in his mouth, using his hands on the shaft. He’s working from memory of what used to feel good to him. Based on the sounds Steve is making, his memories are solid. He pushes his lips further down, sucking in. Steve convulses, nearly taking Bucky’s head off in the process. _God damn he’s strong_

Bucky is also strong. New plan, hold those thighs down and suck like there’s no tomorrow. Steve likes that. He’s panting so hard that Bucky has to fight the urge to drop everything and search for his inhaler. His neck is starting to ache and Steve’s hand is twisted in his hair but he does not give a damn. He is James Buchanan Barnes, god-king of blowjobs.

Steve climaxes, falling back onto the bed. Bucky wipes his mouth and swallows. That was _different_. He looks up at Steve, expecting a smile, maybe even applause, but Steve’s chest is heaving. He’s got one arm thrown over his eyes and his lip is quivering. He’s crying.

 _Shit, shit, shit!_ He’s the village idiot of blowjobs. He scrambles up the bed.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Did I do it wrong? Was it painful?”

“Huh?” Steve pants. “No. I’m…” his lip trembles again, “I’m happy. And emotional. Because we get to do that now. Oh god. I can’t believe I’m crying,” he groans.

“You scared the shit out of me.” Bucky exhales.

“Sorry.” Steve turns his face to the pillow. “Give me a second.”

After a few minutes, he calms down and turns over. Bucky looks at his lips to avoid eye contact. Steve kisses Bucky’s forehead. “I love you.”

“So it was good?”

“It was good,” he confirms. “Is there anything I can do for you? Something to make you feel good?”

“Just this.” Bucky settles in next to him, resting his head on Steve’s chest. He enjoyed what they’d just done, but there was none of the hunger that used to overwhelm him when he was turned on. That electric pulsing _need_ he still remembers but can’t access.

Bucky did a little reading after Barton and Romanoff reminded him that sex does not begin or end with a functioning dick. As it happens there are now people who make a career of researching and documenting all the ways people do and don’t have sex. Bucky is not ready to seek those people out to talk about his situation. But it was encouraging to see that said situation is not as uncommon as he thought. He’s not the only person to lose their desire for sex. Some lost it as a result of trauma and some to a change in their brain chemistry or to medications to treat the latter. For others, the reason may never become clear. Some regain it and some don’t. Most of the articles he read agreed he should not pressure his body to do something it can’t anymore. He has to start associating sex in his mind with things he can do.

“So is this something we only do on my birthday?” Steve runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair, untangling the knots he made. “It’s okay if it is.”

“No. Just seemed like a good time to debut it.” By the time his groin injury had subsided, Steve’s birthday was only a few days away. It felt serendipitous. He could give his boyfriend a blowjob on his birthday. That’s something a normal person does. “Besides, if given the choice between semen or cantaloupe, I’d suck a thousand dicks.”

Steve’s chest quakes under Bucky’s cheek. “That was beautiful, Buck. Was it Shakespeare?”

“Byron.” Bucky laughs.


	7. Chapter 7

- _Bucky_ -

 

Bucky parks his bike in the compound garage and walks back to the house. Steve’s shield is lying at the foot of the stairs. Bucky props it up against the couch and follows the trail of red white and blue fabric. Steve must be dead tired to be so careless with his gear. He’s been gone for almost a week. The whole team was, with only Bucky and Thor sitting this one out. He still doesn’t like Steve going into dangerous situations without him, but there are parts of the world that it’s best Bucky stay far away from and Loki has Strep so Thor wasn’t going anywhere.

STARK has kept Bucky up to date on how the operation was going. He expected Steve back sometime today. He climbs the stairs, collecting Steve’s uniform, finding the last of it outside the bathroom.

Steve is in the tub, his head craned back, his eyes closed. He might be asleep. Bucky leans on the doorframe, taking him in. He’s in one piece, thank God. Got a half a dozen fresh bruises but they won’t last. Steve shifts and opens his eyes.

“Hey.” He smiles and Bucky’s heart swells. Steve slaps at the water. “Want to join me?”

“Sure.” Bucky undresses, feeling Steve’s eyes on him. There was a time when he turned heads but these days he’s not much to look at. Sam says he dresses like a longshoreman who’s dabbled in the black arts. He can’t be bothered to shave more than twice a week and lets his hair grow not because he likes it but because it gives him something to hide behind. Not to mention his resting-murder-face, missing arm, and defective dick. He’s no prize, and yet Steve looks at him like he’s something rare and wonderful.

He sits on the edge of the tub and switches off the nerve connections in his Vibranium arm. He removes it and sets it aside. It can get wet but today Bucky only wants flesh between him and Steve. “How’d it go?”

“Terrible,” Steve groans. He runs a hand up and down Bucky’s remaining arm.

“Half-the-universe-going-poof terrible? Or pants-splitting-during-your-first-communion terrible?”

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “Wanda-and-Vision-sniping-at-each-other-half-the-time-and-freezing-each-other-out-the-other-half terrible.”

“That does sound bad. And the creatures?”

“Parasites. Nightmare fodder. All teeth and tongue.” Steve shudders.

“Yikes. But they’re dealt with?”

“So Bruce says. It took forever. It was not looking good for us until one of them turned on the others. It disappeared once the rest were neutralized, but we don’t think it’s hostile.”

Bucky contemplates it and licks his lip. Steve gets a hungry gleam in his eyes. Bucky’s face heats up. Not for the first time, Bucky wonders if Steve sees him or the guy he used to be.

Steve grips Bucky’s shoulder and pulls him into the bath on top of him.

“Hey!” Bucky flips onto his back.

“You were taking too long.” Steve holds him close and nuzzles the back of his neck. “I missed you.”

“Apparently. Couldn’t wait another thirty seconds?”

“I waited eighty years.”

Bucky splashes him in the face. Then leans back and gets comfortable. The extra-large soaking tub is one of the few luxuries Steve requested when they built the cottages.

“Want me to help with your hair?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. He ducks his head under the water. Steve massages shampoo into his scalp and it feels so good Bucky could dissolve into the bathwater.

“How were things here?”

“Okay. Thor needed a break so I took care of Loki yesterday. I have a little experience entertaining a bored sick kid.”

“True.”

“I taught them to play rummy. They taught me about Pokemon. I’m helping them write their memoirs.”

“What about your appointment? That was today right?”

“Uh-huh.” Bucky had made a trial appointment with a therapist in the city.

“And?”

“Not going to work. He was scared of me. I could tell.”

“Well, were you being scary?”

“Steve,” Bucky warns.

“You can be intimidating when you have your guard up.”

“Maybe I like being intimidating. How am I not supposed to not have my guard up when they’re asking a bunch of personal questions?”

“Okay, so this guy wasn’t a good fit. You’ll find the right one, but you’ll have to expect a few personal questions.”

“I know that. I’m not stupid.” He can’t help it if he has trust issues. Maybe he could help it if he could find a therapist could trust. Other than Steve, the only person he’s been able to open up to is Shuri and there are still limits to what he can tell her.

“You’re definitely not stupid,” Steve assures him while soaping up Bucky’s shoulder. His left shoulder. Steve’s fingers trace over the mosaic of scars. It’s still disconcerting to be touched so gently there. His eyes fill with tears. Yeah, he needs a real therapist.

He turns over and kisses Steve. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I accidentally signed out of Netflix and I don’t know the password.”

“Jerk.” Steve chuckles and shoves Bucky’s head into the bath.

“That for the joke? Or are you asking for a handjob?”

“Little of column A, little of column B.” Steve flexes his hips, already half erect.

Bucky reaches down and begins stroking him. Steve’s eyes roll back and he bites his lip.

“Buck? Could you… ah…?”

“Yes?”

“Could you play with my ass?” he says under his breath.

Not what Bucky was expecting but if he’s that embarrassed but still asked, he won’t refuse. He backs up so Steve can turn over. Bucky kisses his way down his back. He can’t help marvel at the effects of the serum. Steve’s spine used to be visible through his skin. Now he’s solid muscle. It’s beautiful but he can’t help wishing the serum had left a few soft spots.

Okay, he’s got a request to fulfill. He raises his hand and smacks Steve across the ass.

“What the hell?” Steve stares back at him, wide-eyed.

“You said to play with your —”

“And you thought that meant spank me?” Steve laughs.

Bucky shrugs. “How should I know? It was kind of a vague request.”

“Okay, well for the record I don’t like that. What I want is… I want you to use your fingers. Inside me. Please.” Steve’s face has gone as red as the handprint on his cheeks.

“Coulda just said that,” Bucky mutters. Steve get backs on his haunches. He thinks there’s lube in Steve’s dresser but that would mean leaving the warm water long enough to get it and come back. Instead, Bucky puts a couple of fingers in his mouth and works up a gob of saliva. He slathers it over his hand with his tongue.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready.” Steve raises his hindquarters. Bucky eases a finger into Steve’s asshole. Steve clenches around it and Bucky begins pushing in and out. Steve’s breathing matches Bucky’s pace.

“More, please,” Steve whispers.

 _Please_. Bucky bites back a laugh. His ma used to praise Steve’s manners to the Heavens. “Stevie is such a good boy,” she’d say. “You could learn from him, my lad.” He wonders what she’d say if she saw Steve now.On second thought, probably best not to think about his mother while he’s two knuckles deep in another man’s ass.

Bucky works another finger in. He goes deeper, curling his fingers up. Steve makes a happy growling sound. Bucky gets into a steady rhythm. Steve’s legs spasm nearly sending Bucky toppling over.

“Sorry! You okay?” Steve pants.

“Yeah, just can’t brace myself. I would’ve kept the prosthetic on if I knew we were going to do this.”

“You want to stop?”

“You want me to stop?”

“No.” His voice wavers. “Please don’t stop.”

“Okay, one sec.” He shifts his knees so he can put some of his weight on Steve’s back while keeping his fingers in position. Steve inches back to help. They must look like something out of a screwball comedy. A really filthy screwball comedy that you could only see projected onto a sheet in the backroom of a seedy bar. He resumes massaging and gets another finger inside. Steve has begun stroking himself, making their balance precarious again. Bucky hopes they get through this without injury because Steve would sooner let them both bleed out than explain how it happened.

Bucky increases the pressure.

“Oh, that’s good.” Steve moans, breathing heavy. “Keep going.”

He can tell Steve is close. Just another—there he goes. Bucky’s fingers slide out.

“Thank you,” Steve gasps, his body still trembling.

 _Still a good boy._ Bucky laughs into the small of Steve’s back.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“You’re so fucking polite. Saying please and thank you for an orgasm.”

“I shouldn’t? You’d rather I talk dirty?” Steve rolls over to face him.

“Would you know how?”

“Let’s find out.” He grabs Bucky by the chin. “What do you want to hear? That I want to cum all over this face?”

“Oh dear god! That sounds so wrong coming from you.”

Steve looks him dead in the eye. “Listen, soldier, I want your fist so far up my ass you can use me as a hand puppet.”

“Jesus Christ, Steve!” Bucky covers one ear and tucks the other to his shoulder, choking back laughter. “Aren’t I traumatized enough? Could you not talk about fisting in your ‘commanding officer’ voice?”

“What’s the magic word?” Steve grins.

“Shit head.” Bucky laughs.

“No, I don’t think that’s it.”

“Fine. _Please_ never talk such filth again. It felt like witnessing the death of everything good and pure in the world.”

“Why do you think I hardly ever curse?”

They get out of the bath and towel off. Bucky reattaches his arm, thoroughly washes his hands, and is drying his hair when the doorbell rings. Steve throws on some clothes and goes to the door. Bucky dresses and follows him downstairs a few minutes later. Steve is sitting in the living room next to a teary-eyed Wanda Maximoff. Bucky backs silently into the kitchen.

The first time one of the team showed up wanting Steve’s help through a personal crisis, Bucky had doubled over laughing. Who asks Steve ”Parachutes Take Too Long” Rogers for advice? To his surprise, Steve is great at it. He mostly listens and asks a few pointed questions and by the end, they know exactly what to do.

“He hasn’t been the same since he was rebuilt. More emotional and erratic. Lately, no matter what I say, it’s wrong,” Wanda says. Bucky isn’t trying to eavesdrop, but he can’t help hearing every word.

“That sounds frustrating. Have you thought about taking a break from each other?”

“I don’t know. I do love him, it’s just so difficult now. And I… I don’t want to be alone.”

She starts talking about how she’s never been alone. She mentions her brother and how he was always there. Once he was gone Vision became who she leaned on. Bucky didn’t know she had a brother. He doesn’t know any of them really. Except maybe Sam, and he’s getting to know Thor and Loki.

“Sometimes I think I’m all he has.”

 _Oof, that doesn’t hit close to home at all._ If they ended things, Bucky is definitely the Vision of the relationship. Sam, Thor, all of them, would remain Steve’s friends. What would he do? Go back to Wakanda and go full hermit.

He calls the next therapist on his list and books the first available appointment.

There’s a knock at the front door.

“Should I get that?” Bucky calls, giving away that he’s been in the kitchen the whole time.

“No,” Wanda replies, “I will.”

He steps into the foyer and watches her open the door. Vision is on the other side. They talk in front of the house. Steve observes from the doorway, his jaw set, ready to step in. Bucky falls in behind him.

He can’t hear what they’re saying, but it’s obvious what’s happening. Wanda remains calm. Vision gets upset. Steve steps onto the front stoop but Wanda shakes her head in his direction. They exchange a few more terse words and then Vision takes off. Literally flies away, building up speed the higher he goes until he disappears from sight with an ear-shattering boom.

Several doors open and the Avengers in residence come out, ready for a fight. Steve waves them back inside.

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” Steve asks once the sonic aftershock has passed.

“No. Thank you. I’ll be alright.” She walks back toward her house.

Steve closes the door and turns to slump against it. “Wow.”

“Yeah. That was something.”

“Probably the best for both of them, but painful.” He sighs. Gradually, his mouth curves into a smile. “You didn’t flinch.”

“Pardon?”

“Earlier. In the tub. Before all that. I messed up and looked you right in the eye and you didn’t flinch.”

“What? No, I looked away.” He must have.

“No, I had you by the chin. You didn’t look away.”

Bucky thinks back. He’s right.

“I can make eye contact?”

“You can make eye contact.” Steve nods.

They lock eyes.

“Stay there.” Bucky takes a step forward, staring into Steve’s baby blues. He inches closer, waiting for the panic to set in. The thudding in his chest. The need to run or hit someone. Nothing. His heart-rate is steady “What do you know?” he whispers, incredulous.

Steve lifts him off his feet and spins him around. “I’m so proud of you!”

“Put me down, punk.” He laughs. “I looked you in the eye, I didn’t end world hunger.”

Steve sets him down but doesn’t let go. He trails kisses along Bucky’s jaw. “You’re getting better.” He says between kisses.

How the hell did that happen? Was it the Blue Fairy? Is he a real boy now? Steve backs them up and sits on the stairs. Bucky takes Steve’s cheeks and lifts his face back up to look into his eyes again. They contain the whole goddamn sky. Bucky feels lightheaded. He can make eye contact. He couldn’t one day, and the next he could. How the HELL did that happen?

It takes a while but they finally get enough of kissing and staring. Bucky goes back upstairs and video chats Shuri. He listens to her enthuse about her latest inventions and she catches him up on the goings-on at the palace. Then he tells her about making eye contact.

“Well, that’s good. Isn’t it?” she asks.

“Of course it is. But I don’t understand. It’s like it went away on its own.”

She rolls her eyes. “It did not go away on its own. When you were a prisoner the only time anyone got that close to you was to inflict pain. But that hasn’t been the case for a while. Your subconscious has been collecting data. Close eye contact doesn’t only mean danger anymore. The trigger didn’t go away on its own, _you_ made it go away. You just didn’t notice.”

They talk for a few more minutes. Shuri agrees that finding a local therapist should be a priority. The call ends and Bucky is left with an unfamiliar fluttering sensation in his chest. Hope.

* * *

- _Steve_ -

 

It’s remarkable the amount of chaos one small child can cause in under three hours. Maybe not so surprising when you remember that the same child nearly leveled Manhattan in half that time. Steve and Bucky stepped in to watch Loki when a playdate fell through, allowing Thor to run a few errands he couldn’t get to while Loki was sick. The day started innocently enough. Bucky mixed up a bottle of bubbles and took Loki outside. Not long after, Steve caught them both laughing hysterically as the chickens chased the bubbles. But it soon got too hot and they came back inside.

After being cooped up for over a week Loki didn’t stay interested in any one activity for too long. The house is a disaster, and that was before they turned it inside out, searching for Loki’s left shoe. Thor offered to help them clean up but Steve figured it would be easier without the epicenter of the mayhem present.

“Any luck?” Bucky calls from upstairs.

“Not in here,” Steve answers.

“Where did you leave it?” Thor’s asks for the tenth time.

“I don’t remember!” Loki insists.

“Found it!” Bucky jogs down the stairs, shoe in hand. “It was in the linen closet.”

“Excellent! Thank you so much. Put on your shoes and we’ll head home.” Thor takes the shoe and kneels to help slip them onto Loki’s feet.

“No!” Loki yelps.

“Put on your shoes,” Thor says firmly.

“No! They’re too tight!”

“I know. You had a growth spurt while you were sick. I ordered a new pair, but they haven’t arrived yet. You only have to wear them long enough to get home.”

“Nooooooo!” Loki cries. It’s that hiccuping, snotty, type of crying that little kids are so good at. “They hurt!”

“You wore them this morning.” Thor takes Loki’s small foot in his hands.

“And it huuuuuurt!”

“Please, Loki, wear them for five minutes. Then you can take them off.” Thor tries to ease the foot into one of the shoes.

“No!” Loki yanks back the foot and pulls off their sock, throwing it at the floor in a fit of pique.

“Put your sock back on!” Thor says through gritted teeth.

“No!” Loki screams. Their feet flail, making contact with Thor’s jaw. Loki freezes, eyes like saucers. Thor drops the shoe and presses his lips together. He stands and walks out the door.

Loki crosses their arms and scoots around to face the wall.

“He’s coming back, right?” Bucky whispers.

“I’ll check.” Steve goes outside. Thor’s is standing in front of the chicken coop, muttering and gesticulating wildly. “So…? Can I help?”

“They’re just shoes!” Thor fumes.

“They are.” Steve agrees.

“I don’t understand how Loki can be willing to go to prison for the rest of their life, but won’t walk from here to there,” Thor points to his house, a mere 600 feet away, “in uncomfortable shoes!” He slams his fist on the fence post. It cracks down the middle. “I’ll fix that,” he says quietly.

“It’s okay.” Steve puts his fist to his mouth to keep from laughing. “We can keep watching Loki while you cool off.” Loki in a perfectly pleasant mood had been exhausting but they can deal if they have to.

“Do you know why Jane broke up with me?” Thor asks.

“Uh…no. You never said.”

“She was ready to start a family.”

“And you weren’t?”

“I was. I would have. She didn’t think I was mature enough to be a father.”

“Oh.” _Ouch_.

“And she’s right.” Thor shakes his head. “I’m terrible at this.”

“No. You’re great with Loki. They adore you. They told us all about how you took care of them while they were sick. Told stories, sang them to sleep, made that special broth.”

“Our mother’s recipe.” Thor smiles.

“Nobody can blame you for losing your temper. Loki is a handful.”

“True, but not compared to me at that age. I was a terror. Loki, the old Loki, was the well-behaved one. While we were children, that is.”

“Didn’t he stab you multiple times?”

“Well yes,” Thor laughs, “but I usually deserved it. It’s strange, I miss that Loki. Even as awful as he became toward the end. This Loki is much better, most of the time, and I miss the old one.”

“I don’t think it’s strange.” Steve misses the Bucky he used to know. He loves Bucky as he is. But occasionally, he finds himself mourning the loss of the Bucky who could charm anyone, who never let Steve feel sorry for himself, who could be a little vain or even smug.

“I finished the errands an hour early. It’s so much easier when I don’t have to keep them from wandering off or breaking something. I got back in the car and just sat there.” Thor closes his eyes. “In the quiet. And I thought about maybe not driving home.”

“But you did.”

“I was going to abandon them.”

“No, you weren’t. You just thought about it. I’m not a parent but I’d be shocked if were the first. You thought about it and then you came back anyway. You’re not terrible and you’re not too immature to be a father.”

“I thought about it again just a few minutes ago.”

“If someone screamed at me then kicked me in the face I’d think about ditching them too.”

Thor laughs, nodding his head. “You wouldn’t be interested in adopting Loki? Permanently?”

“No thank you.”

“Okay. I’ll keep them, I suppose. I’m right about the shoes. Loki is being unreasonable. I’m _right_.”

“Uh-huh.” Steve nods.

“That tantrum was unusual.” He sighs. “The shoes must really hurt.”

Steve recalls Loki kicking them off the second they stepped through the door. Thor goes back inside. Bucky is teaching Loki to play _Hello Operator._ Loki is watching Bucky’s hands and mouthing the lyrics, giggling each time Bucky narrowly avoids saying something inappropriate.

Thor clears his throat. Loki’s face instantly reverts to a scowl. Thor picks up the shoes and ties them together, swinging them in one hand. Loki jumps to their feet.

“Come on, you know what to do.” Thor extends his arm and Loki scrambles up to his shoulders. “Say thank you to Steve and Bucky.”

“Thank you!” Loki shouts.

 _Thank you,_ Thor mouths and marches them out the door.

“I have never been so tired in my entire life.” Bucky falls onto the sofa. He shoves a throw pillow under his head and closes his eyes.

“Hey, help me clean up then you can sleep.”

“Okay.” Bucky doesn’t move.

“Please, Buck. I don’t want to do it all myself.”

“Then let me do it. I just need a quick nap first.”

“How quick?”

“Couple months. Gonna ask Shuri to put me back in cryo.”

“Bucky, come on.” Steve pokes him.

“I’ll do it. I’ll do it. Give me one hour.”

“Fine.”

Steve starts a timer and works on putting his drafting table back in order. Bucky can tackle the rest. Steve taught Loki to make paper flowers. It held their attention for nearly twenty minutes. He sweeps up the scraps of paper and dumps them in a ziplock bag. He might find a use for the bigger ones eventually. He cleans up the spilled glue and selects the nicer flowers for a wreath. On the floor, he finds a few pages of Loki and Bucky’s ongoing project, Loki’s memoir. They worked on it while Steve made lunch. Loki drew the pictures. Then Bucky put the page into his typewriter and transcribed whatever Loki said.

He gathers the pages and tries to put them in order. The cover is easy to identify. A self-portrait with the title _Loki of Asgard written by Loki of Midgard_ in neat but childish letters.

He finds page one.

 _“I’m born,”_ it says over a drawing of a large blue man holding a small blue baby over a trash can. _“This baby is small and dumb,”_ says a word balloon. Steve shuffles until he finds the next page.

 _“I’m found.”_ It shows a drawing of Odin —Steve knows it’s Odin because the name Odin is written above the figure—taking the baby out of the trash by one blue leg. He says _“This is my dumb blue baby now.”_

On the next page, Odin throws the no longer blue baby at a child with yellow hair. _“Here, have a brother.”_

 _“Yay!”_ The child responds.

 _“New family”_ seems to be next. It features Odin, Frigga, Thor, and Loki standing together plus another figure to the side. Whoever it is has been scribbled over.

There are several pages of Loki and Thor growing up. Thor learning to fight. Loki learning magic. The last completed page before Loki grew bored features Adult Loki with one blue arm, crying. _“What am I? My life is a lie!”_

There is a half-finished drawing that seems to be Loki, still crying and breaking things while Asgard burns.

The timer goes off. He nudges Bucky. “It’s been an hour.”

“Eh? That can’t be true.”

“You said you’d clean up.”

“Sorry can’t do it.” Bucky rolls onto his other side, so his face is hidden in the cushions.

“Why not?”

“Lost an arm. Tragic accident.” Bucky makes a few fumbling adjustments and removes his arm. “See?” He releases it and lands on the rug with a thud.

“Seriously?”

“Deadly.”

“Jerk,” Steve says under his breath. He picks up the arm and walks away. He goes to his room and escapes into a book.

Forty minutes later he hears, “You petty bastard! Where is it?”

Steve goes to the railing overlooking the living room. “Where is what? How can you find anything in this mess?”

“Oh, you’re hilarious! Bob Hope better watch out. Where the fuck did you put my arm?”

“Don’t ask me. You lost it.”

“Nice, real nice.” Bucky laughs, shaking his head. “This is abuse. I’m disabled.”

“My heart breaks for you, Buck.”

“I hate you,” he says, an amused smile on his lips. Bucky starts searching, tidying as he goes. He looks under the couch and in the broom closet. He checks the kitchen then goes out and inspects the chicken coop. Steve joins him back in the living room. “What the hell did you do with it?” Bucky looks genuinely impressed. Steve laughs and looks up. Bucky follows his gaze to the top of the tallest bookcase in the house.

“Of course.” Bucky sighs. He grabs onto a shelf and starts climbing.

“You’re going to hurt yourself. Use a stepladder.” That’s how Steve had gotten it up there.

“Shut up, Rogers, I got this.”

He’s doing surprisingly well with only one arm. He’s using the stump as a counterbalance while he pulls himself up with the other. It’s not easy and he’s grunting and straining from the effort. Steve’s a little turned on.

“I don’t think the bookshelf can hold your weight. Just let me get it for you.”

“Like I’d give you the satisfaction. Should be ashamed of yourself. Stealing a crippled man’s arm. It’s fucking disrespectful.” He wedges his stump between some books and reaches over his head. He feels around the top of the shelf until his fingers find the metal arm. “Ha!” He crows and snatches it. His foot slips. “Shit!”

Steve springs forward but Bucky lands on his feet. He triumphantly raises the arm. “Pull something like that again and your dead to—”

There’s a creaking, groaning sound.

“Uh oh!” The bookshelf topples. Steve pulls Bucky out of the way. The shelf crashes to the floor at the exact same moment that a Vibranium elbow clocks Steve across the face. Steve staggers backward. His face vibrates with pain. He tries to open his eyes but his lids refuse to do anything but squeeze tighter.

“Your nose! Fuck,” Bucky groans.

Blood gushes through Steve’s fingers which are clamped to his face. Steve stumbles again. Someone catches him and then he’s yanked backward and up. His feet are no longer on the ground. His eyes still refuse to open but he sees a very bright light.

“Hey! Stop!” Bucky shouts, sounding panicked. “Ste—” his voice cuts out.

Steve thrashes until whoever is holding him lets go. He drops onto his side and forces himself to stand. He holds his fists up in a defensive stance.

“Bucky?” he calls, his heart thudding in his chest.

“Just stay calm, Rogers,” an annoyingly even-keel voice says. It’s not Bucky. Steve swings a fist in its direction.

“Whoa!” The voice yelps. He hears footsteps backing up. “You’re safe. No need for fisticuffs.” it’s a male voice, familiar but he can’t place it. He finally manages to force an eye open. He’s not at home, he can tell that much. Something moves. Steve squints and focuses on a tall figure, wearing some kind of… cape?

“Strange?”

“Yes, it’s me,” the sorcerer replies. “Just take it easy and I’ll fix—”

Steve swings again, landing a right hook to the bastard’s perfect cheekbone.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one resolves the cliffhanger from chapter 7 so read that first if you haven't.

- _Steve_ -

 

“What part of ‘you are safe’ did you not understand?” Doctor Strange holds his face, a purple bruise forming on his cheek.

“The part where you abducted me from my home.” Steve doesn’t lower his fists. He doesn’t have time for this. He needs to get home, Bucky will be freaking out. “Send me back, right now.”

“Can’t do that, Rogers. Not yet.” Strange flicks a hand, glowing circles appear around it. Steve is forced into a high-backed chair. The wizard’s hands flutter. A set of frosted glass wind chimes hover in the air in front of him, pinging in an imperceptible breeze.

“What the Hell are you doing?” Steve asks, his nose throbbing.

“Calming you down,” Strange says. “This is going to hurt a lot more if you’re tense.”

“ _What_ is going to hurt?” Steve snarls. It’s like he’s stepped into some surreal, vaguely ominous dream. Though he can’t remember ever dreaming about Stephen Strange. “What are you going to do to me?”

“I’m going to fix your nose. Then maybe you can tell me how it got broken in the first place. Now, for both our sakes, try to relax.”

Steve sighs. He may as well let Strange do whatever he’s going to do so he can go home. They’re in a greenhouse of sorts. Filled with exotic looking plants and an antique fountain. It’s really rather lovely. Under different circumstances, he wouldn’t mind spending an afternoon here. He breathes through his mouth and gazes at the glass-paned ceiling. Strange’s fingers perform an elaborate ballet. Pain blossoms in Steve’s nose. He gasps and clutches the armrest, tears springing to his eyes. The pain ebbs and he can breathe again.

“What happened to it not hurting if I was calm?” Steve glares at the doctor.

“I said it would hurt less if you were calm.” Strange shrugs. “I could’ve made it hurt more, but I’m not that vindictive. Even if you did hit me for no reason.”

No reason? Steve opens his mouth to protest, but he really does _not_ have time to yell at the Ultimate Magician or whatever he calls himself.

“I can’t reverse the bruising but the cartilage is mended. It’ll be tender for a while. Take it easy for a few days.” Strange says.

“Okay, you fixed my nose. Can I go now?” Steve tries to stand but he’s magnetized to the chair. “Strange, why are you doing this?”

“I can’t let you leave until I’ve got confirmation that it’s safe for you to go home.”

“Why wouldn’t it be safe?” Steve can’t keep the frustration out of his voice.

“Because your boyfriend attacked you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, he didn’t attack me.” _That’s_ what this about?

“Then how did you break your nose?”

“He elbowed me in the face. Accidentally. How did you even know about it?”

“STARK?” Strange snaps to the air.

“What’s up, doc?” STARK answers through Strange’s speakerphone.

“Didn’t you tell me Barnes had attacked Rogers?”

“Sure did. Did you find Steve? Is he okay.”

“You? You were watching us?” Steve fumes.

“Of course not!” STARK replies. “I don’t have camera access to the private residences. But your mics are set for passive listening.”

Steve feels a little sick. What has he heard? Everything they’ve ever said? The things he’s only ever said to Bucky? Bucky’s night terrors? Has he heard them have sex? He’s going to throw up. “Oh god,“ he groans.

“No no no no. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not like that. I listen the same way any voice-activated system ‘listens.’ It’s not really me doing the listening, just an automated part of my code. You say my name and I respond.”

“We _didn’t_ say your name.”

“In your case, I was given a few additional things to listen for. I heard a death threat and then a crash. So I raised the alarm.”

“Death threat?”

“I heard ‘you’re dead.’ It was definitely Barnes’s voice.”

Steve pinches his brow. “He said ‘you’re dead to me,’ as a joke.”

“See?” STARK chirps. “If I had been listening the whole time I would’ve known that.”

“Why would that make me feel better?”

“I don’t know? They thought it would be less invasive that way. I told them you wouldn’t like it.”

“Them? Who’s them?”

“The team. The Avengers. They asked me to listen for signs that Barnes was hurting you.”

“And they asked me to check on you and get you to safety if he was,” says Strange. “The blood and broken furniture looked like proof.”

Steve reels. “The team? They told you to do this?” _His_ team?

“Yes.”

“Because they thought Bucky might hurt me?”

“He’s done it before. DC for example,” STARK says.

“He didn’t have a choice!” Steve growls.

“We know. It’s awful what was done to him. But _you_ still ended up in the hospital. Can you blame them for being concerned?”

“So instead of discussing their concerns with me, they went with surveillance?”

“Would it help to think of it as a baby monitor?” STARKS asks. “Cautionary measures?”

“Why didn’t they just talk to me?” Steve snaps.

“Does Berlin ring a bell? Or Siberia? My chest still hurts from where you hit me, and I no longer have a chest. No offense, but you don’t listen to anyone else’s point of view when it comes to him.”

Steve inhales. It’s a low blow but not inaccurate.

“Everyone agreed to this?”

“Carol and Thor objected but they were outvoted.”

“Sam too?”

“He agreed to the protocols, but he thought they should tell you. He was also outvoted.”

“Unbelievable.” Steve seethes. Sam was a part of this.

“Oh…” STARK sounds distracted. “Uh… so Prince Hairy’s story matches Cap’s. I don’t think they had time to coordinate.”

 _Wow_. They really don’t trust him, do they?

“There. It’s safe,” Steve spits. “Let me go.”

“Believe me, nothing would make me happier than to get you out of the Sanctum,” Strange replies. “You won’t hit me again, once I remove the restraints?”

“Not making any promises.” Hitting Strange was the highlight of this whole debacle.

“I know you blame me,” Strange sighs, shoulders slumping.

“We had a plan. It was working,” Steve says, anger flaring again.

“It was failing. It was always going to fail.” For once there’s no arrogance in his voice. He almost sounds human.

“So you convinced him to die?” Steve can’t resist twisting the knife, but he doesn’t feel good about it.

“I told him how to defeat Thanos.”

“But you knew Tony would die?”

“Yes,” his voice falters. “There was no one else— I wish it could’ve gone differently.”

Steve exhales. The truth is it’s as much his fault as it is the wizard’s. If he’d been faster, realized what Tony was doing a second earlier… “Just send me home, Strange.”

Doctor Strange nods, squaring his shoulders. The force keeping Steve in the chair relaxes. He stands and walks through the open portal.

“Steve?” Bucky rushes to him and cups his face between his hands. He gingerly touches Steve’s nose. “It’s not broken?”

“It was. He fixed it. Magic.” Steve tries to imitate Strange’s hand choreography.

“Wow, that’s pretty cool.” He stares at Steve’s face again. “That’s a nasty bruise. Must hurt like Hell. God, I’m so sorry.”

“It was an accident, Buck.”

“Yeah that part was, but I was being a jerk about cleaning up. I finished while you were gone. I got the bookshelf back up, but I’m not sure I put the books in the order you like.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll fix it after we unpack.”

“Unpack?” Bucky looks at him, a wry smile on his lips.

“We’re moving. Immediately.”

Bucky laughs. Not the reaction Steve was going for. “How about we sleep on it before deciding to upheave our entire lives?”

“You don’t get it. They had STARK spying on us. Listening to us. And the whole team agreed to it. Even Sam.”

“Oh yeah, I know.” Bucky nods.

“You knew?”

“As of five minutes ago. Strange popped in and took you with no explanation. I kind of lost it. I yelled for help. Then STARK explained about the protocols. And I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?” For the second time in less than an hour, Steve is completely dumbfounded.

Bucky shrugs. “They took things a little too far, but no harm done.”

“No harm done? They had me kidnapped!” Steve exclaims.

“You’re being a little dramatic, Stevie. You were gone for fifteen minutes at the most.”

“It was a complete violation, Buck!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you have to be someplace you didn’t want to be? While a world-class surgeon healed you with magic? What an ordeal.” Bucky rolls his eyes.

Steve bites his lip, trying to remain calm. It’s not fair. He’s allowed to be upset about this, even if it doesn’t compare to what Bucky went through. “I’m not saying it’s as bad as what happened to you.”

“Yeah, you better not be,” Bucky mutters.

“Of course not. But it’s still not okay. I don’t understand how they can call themselves my friends and do something like this!”

“You don’t? Because I do. We’re living in close proximity to a bunch of people I almost murdered a few years ago. People that you didn’t exactly consult before moving me in.”

“Who’s being dramatic now? It wasn’t that bad.”

“I kicked Sam off a building!”

“Sam can fly,” Steve mumbles. He sounds petulant even to his own ears.

“I shot Tony. In. The. Face.” Bucky says, hitting each word.

“You did?” Steve is pretty sure he’d remember that.

“You didn’t see it because I had just thrown you down an elevator shaft.”

Bucky cocks his head, eyebrows raised. He won that round.

Steve breathes in through his battered nostrils. “You weren’t in control then. But you can’t be triggered anymore.”

“Is it so surprising they’d be nervous to have me for a neighbor?”

“They don’t have a problem with Loki living here.”

“I like to think I’m more of a threat than a five-year-old.”

“Technically Loki is only one and a half.”

“You’re trying to distract me with semantics? Is that really how you want to play this?”

Steve purses his lips. “What they did is wrong, Buck.”

“So fucking _stubborn_ ,” he says under his breath.

“They had to compare our stories, Buck!” Steve shakes his head at the ceiling. “That’s how much they trust me.”

“Because they _know_ you. God forbid, but let’s imagine that something happened and I hurt you. Worse than a broken nose. You really saying you wouldn’t cover for me? You’d let them take me into custody without a fight?”

Steve wants to argue, but he can’t. He would never let that happen. He stood by while Interpol put Bucky in a cage. And Zemo got to him anyway. Stole his free will again.

“Look at it from their point of view. Say you have a roommate that you really like. And the roommate has a toaster with a history of shorting out and catching on fire. Would you feel safe with it in the house, even though you know it’s been refurbished?”

“They could’ve said something.”

“Your roommate _loves_ the toaster. He’s weirdly, kinkily, attached to that busted, smoke-damaged, fire-hazard of a toaster. And maybe he gets a little defensive when you try to—”

“You are not a goddamn toaster!”

“Okay.” Bucky backs up, hands raised in front of him. Like Steve is the one being unreasonable.

“We’re moving.”

“No, we’re not. I like it here. I don’t want to leave.” He looks out to the chicken coop, his mouth pulled in a taut line.

“We can take the chickens with us, but I can’t stay here. Not anymore.”

“Fine, move if you want. I’m staying.” He goes upstairs to his room, shutting the door behind him.

“Goddammit!” He cannot let this stand. They have to move. He is right. He goes outside and kicks up a few clods of dirt.

He is _right_. It’s untenable. Thor was right that Loki should be able to wear the too-small shoes for five minutes. Being right didn’t win him that argument. Neither of them is a child though, and Steve is _right_.

Bucky won’t leave. Steve can’t stay. One of them is going to have to budge.

Steve goes back inside and writes several angry emails that he does not send. He searches through real estate listings. There are a few that might work if he can convince Bucky to go with him. That’s not going to happen. Not with his heels dug in like this.

“Dammit.” Steve massages his temples. ”Ow.” He forgot about the bruising to his face. “Ow, sonnuvabitch.” He groans.

Someone touches the back of his neck. Steve tenses, bracing to be dragged through another portal.

“The toaster loves the roommate too,” Bucky whispers, “from the bottom of its stupid toaster heart.” Steve reaches up and eases Bucky into his lap. “If the toaster was responsible for the roommate’s fiery death, it would have a nervous breakdown and… Hurting you is my worst nightmare.” He bites his lip. “When I saw all that blood, I…”

Steve kisses him. “I’m okay.”

“The toaster is worried its wiring won’t be compatible with a new apartment. I like that they have protocols to keep you safe. I get why you’re angry, but I’m relieved.”

Steve gulps. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“We’ll stay, but I’m not happy about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad at _you_.”

“I’m still sorry. This all happened because of me.”

“No, it happened because they have no concept of boundaries.”

“And because you fell for a dangerous toaster.”

“You are really fond of that analogy.” Steve chuckles.

“I put some thought into it.” Bucky shrugs.

“It’s a good toaster,” Steve whispers.

“It’s a decent toaster,” Bucky concedes.

* * *

 - _Bucky_ -

 

Bucky lies on his back while Steve leans over him, trying in vain to get a rise out of Bucky’s dick.

“You can stop.” Bucky sighs. He asked Steve to try, hoping that it would be like the eye contact. That it came back while he wasn’t paying attention.

“Sorry.” Steve nuzzles his cheek. “Should I try something else?”

“No, if it was going to happen it would’ve. It’s getting depressing.” Bucky has tried periodically by himself, with no results. He thought maybe with Steve, with the Wakandan stars twinkling overhead… That would’ve been nice, but he’s as flaccid as ever. “Thanks for trying, though.”

“You only have to ask. Anytime.” Steve kisses him. They’ve been in Wakanda for two weeks. Steve had been in a lousy mood since finding out about the protocols. Which made Bucky feel guilty for not letting them move off the compound. So he proposed a vacation.

“Do we have to go back?” Steve asks.

“You know we do.” It’s been a lovely break. They’ve had several good dinners with T’Challa and Nakia, gone hiking with Okoye, and sightseeing with Shuri. He’s seen more of Wakanda than he did when he lived here. Shuri did stress testing on his arm and refilled his medications. She also did a follow-up exam with Steve, making sure there were no lingering effects from when he was infected with the Infinity Stones after the first confrontation with Thanos. Bucky got to visit with his former herd. Steve has done a lot of sketching. It’s been wonderful, but Steve’s life is back in New York, even if he’s not as happy with it as he once was.

“Do we though?” Steve strokes Bucky’s hair.

“The trial? United front?” Loki’s trial starts next week. Steve is a witness. They promised Thor they’d both be there.

“Fine,” Steve grumbles. As much as Bucky loves Wakanda, he’s ready to go. The hut is too small for two inhabitants, they’ve spent most of the time outdoors. This was where he needed to be while he was learning to be a person again, but his needs have evolved. This isn’t home anymore.

Bucky can feel Steve’s arousal pressed against his thigh. He has a pang of envy that it's so easy for him. “Want me to do something about that?”

“I’d like that. If you want to.”

“One of us should get off tonight.” He positions himself between Steve’s knees. He licks up and over the tip and back down again. Steve reclines on his elbows. Bucky teases him a few more times with his tongue. He moves toward the head again, Steve arches his back. Bucky takes a deep breath, then bypasses the shaft and wraps his lips around Steve’s balls.

Steve lets out a stuttering gasp like someone dropped an ice cube down his shirt. Bucky reaches up and jerks Steve with one hand. Steve’s hand clasps over his, guiding it up and down. Bucky sucks in his cheeks, getting a high-pitched “aahuuaaah” from Steve. His own dick may be a lost cause but he can make 240 pounds of super soldier yip like an overstimulated puppy. Not a bad tradeoff.

Steve finishes and cleans them both up with his discarded shirt. He gazes at Bucky, eyes half-lidded.

“Bucky,” he murmurs, smiling contentedly. He takes Bucky’s right hand, turns it over and kisses the inside of his wrist. Bucky doesn’t understand why that felt a million times more intimate than what they’d just done.

Blushing, Bucky presses his face to Steve’s side. They lie in the grass for a while. Steve startles and tenses, eyes going wide. Bucky sits up, heart thudding.

“What is it?” He scans the area. Steve clutches his arm.

“Don’t move,” he whispers. Bucky freezes. Whatever it is, judging by the fear in Steve’s eyes, it’s serious.

Steve’s eyes dart to the right, then back to Bucky. Bucky looks without turning his head. He laughs.

“A snake? That’s what you’re scared of?”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut and nods.

“Jesus Christ, Stevie, really?” Bucky laughs harder.

“It looks poisonous.”

“It’s a brush snake. It’s harmless. Since when were you afraid of snakes?”

“Since always.” Steve shrugs.

“How did I not know that?” The dumbass who squared off against assholes three times his size, was petrified of snakes?

“Not a lot of snakes in Brooklyn.”

“True.”

“But I read about them.”

Steve read every Western pulp he could get his hands on when they were kids. Some poor shmuck got themselves bitten by a rattler every twenty pages or so.

“Don’t ever change, Rogers.” He kisses the tip of Steve’s nose.

“Is it gone?”

Bucky slips his Kimoyo beads onto his wrist. He sweeps their radius with the flashlight setting. “About two feet that way.”

Steve winces. Bucky chuckles.

“I’ll get rid of it.” He stands.

“Be careful,” Steve’s voice wavers.

“Oh yeah, I’m taking my life into my hands here. If I die, give my stuff to Shuri.”

“I don’t get anything?” Steve asks, relaxing a little.

“Why would you? You’re part of my stuff.”

“Jerk.” Steve laughs.

Bucky nudges the snake with a stick. “Move along, buddy. You’re spooking my sweetheart.” The snake slithers away at a leisurely pace. “All clear, Stevie.”

Steve picks up their clothes and heads back toward the hut. “Please don’t tell anyone about the snake thing.”

“I’m telling _everyone_.”

Steve drags his heels the next morning. Bucky does most of the packing.

“Can’t we stay a few more days? We can still make it back before the trial.”

Bucky shakes his head, smiling. “Did you know there are more species of venomous snakes in Wakanda than anywhere else in the world?”

Steve’s brow creases. “Is that true or are you manipulating me?”

“It’s true and I’m manipulating you.”

“Let’s go home.” Steve sighs.

By the time they reach the house, Steve’s bad mood has returned. Bucky really has to do something about the rift with his friends. Bucky checks on the chickens while Steve unpacks. Barton looked after them while he was gone. He sends a few texts and listens to his voicemail. He missed the appointment with the prospective therapist while they were away. He calls them back and books the next open appointment. Six weeks out. He heads back inside

“I’ve invited Thor and Loki to dinner,” Bucky calls to Steve, who’s brooding at his drafting table.

“What are we going to feed them? We haven’t gotten groceries yet.”

“They’re bringing food. It’s a potluck.”

“A potluck with only four people?”

“I invited Carol too.”

“Okay.” None of them had voted yes to the protocols.

“And Peter.” Peter wasn’t involved at all, but Steve likes the kid.

Steve looks at him suspiciously.

“And Sam.”

“Bucky!”

“And Bruce. And Hope and Scott. And Romanoff. And Wanda. And—”

“You were really going to ambush me?”

“No. I’m telling you about it, right now. You’ve got four hours to sulk.”

“I don’t want to talk to them!”

“You have to forgive them.”

“I don’t think I do.” Steve scowls, arms folded over his chest. He grinds his jaw, squinting in displeasure. Bucky closes his eyes, seeing another Steve. A smaller Steve, but with just as much attitude. This is going to be a challenge. If he could give in to moving away he would. But they’re safer here. Safer because of the protocols.

“Stevie, I love you so much.”

Steve smiles, shoulders loosening a little.

“But we’ve gone over this. If the protocols go so do I.”

Steve’s lip curls into a pout. “I know. You won that one. I’m not arguing that. But they betrayed me. I can’t play nice with them right now.”

“They’re your team. Your friends. You need to talk this out. You need to trust each other. Or I don’t want to think about what happens the next time you're out in the field with them.” It’s been keeping him up at night if he’s being honest.

“Whose fault is it that I can’t trust them?”

“They meant well, Stevie.”

“Then they should have talked to me.”

“You are an amazing listener, except when you’re not. And then you’re impossible. If you can forgive me for nearly killing you, you can forgive them for trying to prevent it from happening again.”

Steve lets out a long-suffering sigh. “We can’t fit all of them at the table.”

“We’ll make it work.”

The group starts arriving at five. Thor brings paper plates and napkins. Loki’s contribution is a single orange. Carol arrives with a bottle of wine. As does Romanoff. And Rhodes.

“Am I the only one who brought food?” Bruce sets a crockpot of chili on the counter.

“It was short notice.” Barton hands Bucky a twelve-pack of Heineken.

“I brought food.” Scott empties a gas station bag on the table. Two packs of Slim Jims and a bag of Haribo gummy worms.

Peter comes through with a tray of chicken parmesan from his aunt. Sam brings peach pie. Wanda made rice pudding. Vision doesn’t attend. An Iron Man suit delivers a cantaloupe-free fruit salad but leaves to not take up more space. Bucky included STARK on the invite, but he’s opted to attend as a voice only.

Steve was right they can’t all fit at the table. So Bucky arranges it as a buffet and they eat in the living room. All available chairs and couch space are full. A few have taken to sitting on the floor. Steve stands in the corner, determinedly not speaking to anyone.

“I am very uncomfortable,” Peter whispers to Bruce.

“I’m not!” Loki says, double-fisting gummy worms.

“Stevie.” Bucky elbows him in the ribs. “Now or never.”

Steve grunts.

“Steve.” Bucky hisses.

Steve clears his throat. “I’m angry,” he says to the group.

“You don’t say?” Romanoff deadpans.

“You hide it extremely well,“ Barton adds.

 _Assholes_. Bucky laughs to himself.

“I don’t agree with your methods,” Steve continues, “I wish you’d spoken to me, but I understand why you didn’t. Bucky is fine with the protocols and I can live with them. Now that I know about them. I believe that your hearts were in the right place and I will do my best to let it go.” He rocks back on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets.

“We know we crossed a line,” Sam speaks up. There are murmurs of agreement from around the room. “We should have come to you with our concerns.” Sam smiles hopefully at Steve.

Steve nods.

“And Steve should have discussed it with you before I moved in,” Bucky says. Steve shoots him an irritated look. Bucky continues. “I understand why some of you may not be comfortable having me around.”

“It’s not that we don’t like you,” Scott interjects. “It’s just that you’re terrifying, sometimes.”

“We know what HYDRA did to you. We know it wasn’t your choice,” Wanda adds.

“But that’s sort of all we know about you,” Bruce says “You’re kind of hard to read.”

Bucky nods. “I don’t always know how to be around people.”

“That makes sense,” Carol agrees.

“If you have questions, I’ll answer them.” There’s a short silence. Bucky braces himself for the hard questions. _How many kills? Why didn’t you turn yourself in after you escaped? Why did you run from Steve?_

“Do you have any siblings?” Thor asks.

“Three younger sisters. They’re all dead now.” An easy if slightly maudlin answer.

“Our sister is dead too,” Loki says.

“Indeed she is. So three sisters and no brothers?”

“No brothers. Steve was like a brother. Except I sleep with Steve now and I wouldn’t do that with a real brother. Wait, that makes it sound like I would sleep with my sisters and I would never…” Bucky trails off.

“What did you want to be when you grew up?” Peter asks.

“Um… before going into the service, I had a lot of jobs to make ends meet. I worked at the docks and as a bar-back. I was on a road crew. I was a milkman for a while. What I wanted to do—couldn’t afford to go to school for it but—I wanted to build bridges and dams and things. I guess you’d call it a civil engineer?” He hasn’t thought about that in ages.

“Play any sports?” Rhodes asks.

“Baseball. And I used to box a little.”

“He’s being modest. He was the YMCA welterweight champ three years in a row,” Steve says.“Be right back.” He goes upstairs and returns with a manila envelope. “I did some digging at the historical society after the Triskelion. I was going to show them to you if I ever found you. See if you remembered,” he whispers.

He pulls out photocopies of tattered church circulars. Names Bucky hasn’t seen in nearly a century jump out at him. One shows a grainy photo of Bucky exhausted in the middle of a boxing ring. The volunteer ref holds his arm up. Steve and Bucky’s sisters cheer in the background. Bucky’s lip trembles but he gets it under control and smiles.

Steve passes it around. A couple of people look at it and then at him, trying to spot the resemblance. Or maybe they’re comparing Steve’s past and present physique.

“When did you know Steve was in love with you?” Sam asks.

Bucky looks at his feet. “When he told me a few months ago.”

Sam huffs and hands Romanoff a fifty dollar bill. “I believed in you, man! Why did you have to be so oblivious?”

“Would you stop placing bets on my relationship?” Steve complains.

“Not when they’re this easy to win.” Romanoff smirks.

“Favorite color?” Bruce asks.

“Yellow.”

“Did you ever—” Wanda begins but is interrupted by Loki.

“I have a question!” they shout. “Why are clowns so scary?”

“Oh good question, Loki.” Thor pats their shoulder. “I’d like to know the answer too.”

“Uh… The makeup, maybe?” Bucky says.

“I think he’s right.” Loki nods up at Thor.

The conversation veers away to the topic of scary clowns and then to other fears. It takes everything Bucky has not to mention Steve’s snake phobia.

Before long any conflict within the group has been forgotten. They stay long after the food is done. Sam stays the longest, helping to clean up. He and Steve do the dishes together. Bucky leaves them alone to talk. He knows Sam being in on the “conspiracy” was the one that really hurt.

“Nicely done, Romeo in Black Jeans,” STARK says from the intercom. “Never would’ve pegged you for the peacemaker.”

“Steve needs them. And I need you. You hear anything remotely fishy, you blow the whistle. We clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 and half of chapter 10 are written but it'll be a while before the betas get to them.
> 
> I've seen Endgame. For the most part, I enjoyed it. Liked the time travel shenanigans. Did not like what they did to Nat at all. Thor's PTSD was well handled, his weight change was not. And Steve's HEA rang very false. I love Peggy so much-- like really she's one of my all-time favorites--but no.
> 
> You'll be getting my version of the final battle with Thanos and Tony's death soon.


	9. Chapter 9

- _Bucky_ -

 

“Don’t wake them. We'll ask tomorrow.” A voice partially rouses Bucky from sleep.

“There won't be time tomorrow.” Another voice, a child, whines. Bucky turns over, fitting himself to the curve of Steve’s back and falls back into a doze.

“We'll make time, I promise. Let Bucky sleep.”

“Hhm?” Bucky sits up, blinking. “What?”

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you,” Thor says. Bucky rubs his eyes, trying to get his bearings. He and Steve are on the pullout couch in Thor’s living room.

“Loki is having trouble sleeping. They're worried about tomorrow."

“Thor is also worried,” Loki adds.

“I am, yes.” Thor nods.

They are four days into Loki’s trial. The prosecution rested yesterday, the defense begins in the morning. Loki will be testifying. Steve and Bucky volunteered to stay the night as moral support.

“Did I hear that you want to ask me something?”

“Can I have some of your hair?” Loki whispers. “Please.”

“Sorry, what?”

“It's an Asgardian custom,” Thor explains. “Before facing something that frightens you, you ask someone you admire to loan you a little courage. The hair represents the courage.”

“And you want mine?” Bucky asks. Loki has all of “Earth’s Mightiest Heroes” to choose from and they’re asking him? He has to turn away to compose his face.

“You were brave. You didn’t hide,” Loki says. Bucky doesn’t know about that, he’s done plenty of hiding. “And your charges were dropped. So may I have some hair?”

“Absolutely.” He lets Loki lead him into the kitchen.

“I’ll get the scissors!”

“Loki, ssh. Steve is asleep,” Thor chides.

“It's fine,” Bucky says. “Steve’s out, he won’t wake for anything short of an air-raid.”

Loki runs through the swinging door.

“Don’t run with the—and you’re running with them. Could you pretend to listen to me, please?” Thor sighs.

“What?” Loki asks, climbing onto a kitchen stool.

“Be careful.”

Loki combs Bucky’s hair. “Where should I cut?”

Bucky taps a spot over his right ear. Loki chops off a fistful and gives it to Thor, who braids it into Loki’s hair.

“Thank you!” Loki says, looking into a hand mirror.

“You know, I can use some courage too. Can I borrow a little of yours?”

Loki catches their breath. “Really? You admire _me_?”

Bucky nods. Loki solemnly hands him the scissors. Thor grabs a tissue and blows his nose. Loki delicately weaves a lock of black hair into Bucky’s brown. Loki proceeds to fashion the rest of Bucky’s coif into a bun. Bucky doesn’t normally fuss with his hair, but if it keeps the kid from worrying they can do whatever they want. Loki redoes the bun three times before they’re satisfied with the results. Thor watches, offering his opinion while slowly falling asleep at the table.

A few hours later, Steve squints at him from the doorway. “I can’t tell if I’m awake right now.”

“Oh no, what time is it?” Thor startles awake. “We need to get ready! Loki, go get dressed.”

Steve and Bucky go back to their house and hastily change into court-appropriate attire. They pile into the car at the last minute. The press is already waiting outside the courthouse. Thor carries Loki up the steps and out of view. The reporters turn their attention to the rest of the group.

Flashbulbs explode around him and his ears ring with shouted questions. The reporters have been there all week, but Bucky feels more exposed with his hair pulled back. His throat tightens. He starts to reach for Steve’s hand but it should be Steve’s choice when and how the world finds out that Captain America is in love with a notorious murder-puppet.

Because of the unusual nature of the trial, an entire floor of the courthouse has been cleared for them. No press is allowed in, but the proceedings are being transcribed and released to the public.

They get to the courtroom and take their places in the gallery. Thor and Loki sit at the defense table with Ms. Walters. Loki has been surprisingly stoic all week. They sat quietly through the jury selection and listened with a somber expression as the prosecution called their witnesses. People who were injured or lost loved ones in the battle of New York. Asgardian refugees who witnessed Loki’s ability to change their appearance at will and propensity for deceit. They even called Barton to the stand. He answered the questions but kept going off on tangents, despite both the prosecution and the judge warning him to keep on topic. He said maybe five words about being forced to serve Loki during the invasion but went on a twenty-minute rant about his favorite pizzeria closing.

Ms. Walters calls her first witness.

“You are the god of thunder. Is that correct?”

“I am.” Thor nods.

“And your brother Loki was the god of mischief?”

“Not in the same way. I can wield thunder. Actually, I wield lightning and the thunder follows. Loki never wielded mischief. That was just what he was called. It was a pet name.”

“A pet name?”

“Our mother called us Mayhem and Mischief. As a child, I was boisterous and loud and reckless. Mayhem. Mischief, she said, is smaller and quieter then mayhem but can cause just as much trouble. She meant it affectionately. It was her way of saying we were different but the same.

“When my powers manifested and I became the god of thunder I rather unkindly teased Loki that he was the god of nothing. Only mischief. It went from a pet name to a taunt. Loki embraced it. To show me up. To demonstrate that nothing I said could hurt him. I was too self-involved to see how much of a facade that was.”

Thor outlines Loki’s position in their family. How their father encouraged the brothers to compete with each other, constantly undervaluing Loki and comparing him to Thor.

“Loki had his own strengths, but only our mother recognized them. That may have been enough for Loki if he hadn’t learned that our father had hidden his true nature from him for his entire life. Just one of our father’s many secrets.”

Thor tells about the rift between them and how they finally reconciled just before Loki, the old Loki, died.

“My brother helped to save our people. He lost his life trying to stop Thanos. I am proud of him. And grateful to have this second chance. I will never let Loki feel they are unworthy ever again.”

The prosecution cross-examines but gets very little from him.

The defense attorney next calls her cousin to the stand.

“Doctor Banner, you examined Loki after the Battle of Vormir? Is that right?”

“Yes, I did.”

“What did you find?”

“They are a child. At the time, their physical and cognitive development was about that of a four-year-old. Now I’d say it’s closer to six. An intelligent six. They can read and write. Huge vocabulary. They can work simple equations.” Bucky sees Loki’s back straighten at these words. “Their DNA is 100% human. A perfect match for Tony Stark.”

“But the child we see in front of us is not Tony Stark? Or a clone?”

“No, that is Loki.”

“How is that possible?”

“Infinity Stones is how.” Bruce shrugs. “The stones took what was left of Tony and used it to make Loki. Um… you know how a plastic bottle can be recycled and used to build something else like a boat? Well, that’s sort of what happened. The bottle stops being a bottle and becomes a boat. A boat made from plastic bottles but still a boat. Loki isn’t Tony, they’re just made from his genetic material.”

It took a while for Bucky to wrap his head around how the new Loki relates to the old one. Thor did his best to explain it to the team. Loki remembers their past life but is not really the same person. Their personality, their temperament, even their gender identity is different. That said, the new Loki has some things in common with the one who died. Thor says they look very similar to the other Loki as a child, enough that Thor recognized them after the Battle of Vormir, but they are not identical.

“Why did the Infinity Stones recreate Loki as a child?”

“Loki’s original form was an extremely powerful alien life-form. Tony was human. The stones simply didn’t have enough raw material to remake a fully-grown Frost Giant. It takes a lot of plastic bottles to make an entire boat.”

“Almost as good as the toaster analogy,” Steve whispers to Bucky.

The prosecution questions Bruce. Reviewing test results and throwing around medical terms until Bucky’s head spins.

“It’s not an illusion. Loki is human. A human child,” Bruce insists.

Doctor Strange is called to the stand as an expert in magic. He testifies to what he observed of Loki’s magical talents prior to his death. And about tests he did on Loki following their return.

“In your expert opinion, does Loki possess any latent magical ability?”

“None whatsoever.”

The next witness is an expert on child behavior and development.

“Their understanding of the world is that of a child of six or maybe seven. They understand the concept of right and wrong. And that actions have consequences. They share a strong bond with their brother as their parental figure. They enjoy imaginative play. They test boundaries, but in a healthy and natural way. Overall, I’d say that Loki is a normal child who presents no threat to society.”

Steve is the next witness. He looks back at Bucky.

“You’ve got this,” Bucky whispers. Steve is sworn in and Bucky watches his public persona slide into place. The pinnacle of good manners and old-fashioned decency. As if he didn’t spend his youth brawling in back alleys.

“You fought against Loki in the battle of New York?” Ms. Walters begins.

“That’s right.”

“Can you describe him then?”

“He was dangerous, manipulative, desperate,” Steve recites, but it doesn’t sound like a recital. There’s conviction in every word.

“But you babysit Loki now?”

“Not all the time, but when Thor needs help, sure.“

“In your opinion is Loki still dangerous?”

“No, Loki is a kid. A handful at times, but a sweet kid.”

“Can you tell us about the Battle of Vormir?”

Steve’s face falls. He doesn’t like talking about it. Other than the part he was there for, Bucky only knows the broad strokes. That Steve was infected with Infinity Stone particles during the Battle of Wakanda. After they figured out what was making him sick, Bruce, Shuri, and Tony filtered the particles out of his blood and used them to create a new set of Infinity Stones.

“We tracked Thanos to the planet he was living on. We fought him. When he realized we were a match for his power he fled. Thor used our Space Stone to follow him. Every time he tried to escape Thor brought him back to Vormir.”

“Why Vormir?”

“The Soul Stone was hidden there for eons. We needed to be there because it was almost an extension of the Soul Stone itself. I used our version of the Soul Stone to call to the souls that were trapped inside his. Only he could free them, truly return them to life, but I was able to summon them out of the stone. Not like they had been in life. You couldn’t tell who any one of them had been.” A dark look crosses Steve’s face. “It was a mass of billions of souls and each and every one of them hated Thanos. They swarmed him.” Steve pauses again. Bucky has held Steve through nightmares and he’s pretty sure this image is at the center of several. Steve clears his throat. “In order to stop them, Thanos released them from the Stone. Brought them all back to life, sending them back to where they came from. That was… that’s what we were hoping for. We were winning. We—I used our Soul Stone to anchor each soul to someone important to them, so they would hopefully return somewhere safe. Not, you know, in the middle of a highway or the ocean.”

And that’s how Bucky found himself, alive once again, standing next to Steve on an alien planet. 

“Was Loki among the restored?”

“No. Loki didn’t die from the Snap. Thanos killed him to get the Space Stone. Loki wasn’t trapped with the others.”

“Then how did Loki return?”

“We’d accomplished the most important part of our mission, but Thanos was still alive. Still had a set of stones. He could do it all again. And he was furious. We hit him with everything we had, all of our stones. We had allies among the restored. T’Challa and Spider-man and Doctor Strange. It wasn’t enough. He kept getting back up. He knocked out Thor. Scott almost died. Clint almost died. Shuri got hurt. As long as he had his stones we couldn’t win. Doctor Strange said something to Tony who had our Reality Stone. Tony turned to me and said ‘trust me, it’s going to be okay.’ Then he took the Soul Stone from me. Tony took each of our stones. He had a full set, just like Thanos. And he used them to take Thanos’s Stones away. He was able to overpower Thanos. He took him down, but it was too much. Twelve Infinity Stones. He couldn’t…” Steve’s voice breaks. “It was too much power for anyone to handle. He fell to his knees and exploded into light. When the light faded there was a child sitting in the rubble, cradling the stones.” Steve is mostly holding it together, but he keeps looking away and blinking. His eyes glisten.

Bucky grips his knees, forcing himself to stay in his seat. Sam must know what he’s thinking, he lays his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, “You can’t go up there.”

Bucky nods. Steve’s been through worse. It’s just words.

“Thanos—somehow—Thanos was still alive. The child tossed the stones in the air. They hung there for a second then flew at Thanos and…”

Bucky remembers this part. He’ll never forget it. The titan seemed to be pulled inside out and then he exploded. Not exploded into light, just splat.

“It was done. Finally done. Then the stones popped out of existence. One by one. The child just sat there and stared at nothing. Wouldn’t move. Vormir was crumbling, we had to go. Bruce yelled at me to grab Tony. He thought the child was Tony.”

“But you didn’t?”

“I knew it wasn’t Tony. I don’t know how I knew but I knew. There were about twenty of us left. We didn’t have a Space Stone anymore, Doctor Strange was injured and couldn’t open a portal so we boarded the Guardians’ ship and flew back to Earth.”

“Thank you, Captain Rogers.”

The prosecution steps up.

“So you brought Loki to Earth. To the planet he tried to conquer?”

“I didn’t know who it was, just that it wasn’t Tony. But if I’d known, I still would have done it.”

“Why?”

“Because it was a catatonic child. I couldn’t leave a catatonic child to die on a collapsing planet.”

Bucky recalls the flight back. It was crowded. The ship wasn’t made for that many people. Everyone was in shock. Many were injured. He remembers being unable to process the information that he had been dead for fifteen months. Steve was a wreck, happy to see him but grief-stricken over Tony. Doctor Strange and Mantis were tending to the wounded, despite both having taken wounds themselves. Bruce was desperately trying to get “little Tony” to respond. Thor was unconscious. He didn’t wake until the third night on the ship.

“Loki?” he whispered, uncertain. The child looked up.

“Brother!” they shouted and ran into his arms.

Then it was chaos all over again as everyone tried to make sense of what had happened. And for some, Bruce and Peter, to accept that Stark was really gone.

The prosecutor questions Steve for another twenty minutes. Mostly about the Battle of New York and what led up to it. Steve is dismissed and the judge calls for a recess. The group retreats to a waiting room to wait for a lunch delivery. Thor and Ms. Walters discuss the case while Bruce chases Loki up and down the hall to burn off pent-up energy.

Steve gets up and walks into the hall. Bucky follows him to a bathroom. He’s hunched over the sink, head resting on the mirror.

“You okay?”

Steve looks up. He’s not okay. Bucky pushes a marble-top table in front of the door. He pulls Steve into his arms, kissing him on the cheek. Steve goes boneless, letting Bucky support him.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know,” Steve says, shaking his head, obviously not believing it. “But maybe I could have handled the stones. I’m more durable than he was.”

“You would have died. Just like he did.”

“He had a kid. She’d still have a father if I just stopped him.”

“You couldn’t have stopped him. He had _all_ the Stones, you _couldn’t_ have stopped him.”

Steve steps back, taking a deep breath. “We had other plans. That was the best but we had other plans. Clint had the Time Stone. We could have gone back.”

“You all agreed it was too risky. You told me you gave it to Barton because he had the least incentive to use it. The most to lose.”

Steve nods. “His family survived the Snap. Changing the past would have risked them never existing. But I still tried to steal the Time Stone from him.” Steve stares at the floor in shame.

“You what?”

“After the Snap, we were all a mess. Each trying to hold it together for the others. Clint says he caught each of us trying to steal it at one point.”

“You tried to take the Time Stone?”

“One night, about six months after it happened. We still couldn’t agree on a plan. I couldn’t take it anymore. We’d lost everything. I tried, he caught me. Shot an arrow right through my hand. There was so much I wanted to change.”

“Peggy?”

“What?”

“You were going back for Peggy. To live the life you should’ve lived.”

Steve looks at him, puzzled. “No, Buck. I loved Peggy, I’ll always hurt a little over what could’ve been, but she had a beautiful life without me. I could never take that from her. I was going back for you. To save you from HYDRA. I never looked for your body. You suffered for decades because I never looked—”

Bucky pulls Steve to him again. “That wasn’t your fault either.”

“It was. It was supposed to be to the end of the line. You weren’t dead.”

“You couldn’t know that.” He kisses Steve’s forehead, then down his nose to his lips. He’s overwhelmed by a fierce love for this beautiful, extraordinary man who’s saved countless lives but is haunted by the ones he couldn’t. He kisses each eyelid. Steve’s hand snakes around his waist, pulling him tighter. There’s an odd effervescent sensation in Bucky’s abdomen, like a million champagne bubbles climbing the side of a glass and— “Oh,” Bucky gasps.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks.

Bucky moves Steve’s hand down to his zipper, resting it on the bulge in his pants.

“Oh,” Steve says, understanding.

“It’s aliiiiiiiiiive!” Bucky laughs, throwing his head back.

Steve kisses him again, moving them to the wall. Bucky gets his belt off and undoes his fly. _Oh god._ Bucky doesn’t know why this is happening now, after months of wanting it, but he doesn’t care. It’s happening. Steve’s hand is in his pants. His mouth is on Bucky’s neck. Bucky’s skin is on fire, but he can’t stop shivering. This is happening.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Occupied!” Steve grunts.

“We’re being called back to court,” Romanoff says.

“Shit,” Steve whispers. “You all right stopping now?”

“Gonna have to be,” he whispers back. “We’ll be right there!” He gently pushes Steve away and buttons up his shirt.

“I can’t believe this,” Steve says, retying his tie. “I’m so sorry.”

“What for? My dick choosing the worst possible moment to make a comeback?” He pulls his pants up, struggling to zip them. “You’ve got to get a handle on your guilt complex.”

The walk back to the waiting room is uncomfortable. Bucky drapes his suit jacket over his arm holding it in front of his crotch. His mood keeps bouncing between elated that his libido has returned and mortified at the need to conceal a boner like he’s thirteen again. God, he hopes it goes away soon, but what if doesn’t come back? His life is a fucking disaster. Par for the course.

“You ruined your bun.” Loki frowns.

“Yeah. Steve and I were…wrestling.”

“In the bathroom?”

“Loki, you can’t ask people about what they do in the bathroom,” Thor scolds.

“Sorry.”

They return to the courtroom.

 

* * *

- _Steve_ -

 

Nebula testifies about Thanos’s plans for Earth. Steve tries to listen but his mind keeps drifting back to the bathroom, to their interrupted…. He’d love to know what triggered it. Bucky, for his part, is as focused as Steve has ever seen him. He’s hanging on Nebula’s every word. Steve forces his attention back to the witness stand. It’s clear things would’ve gone very differently if Loki hadn’t been leading the invasion.

Loki is brought to the stand.

“State your name for the court, please.”

“Loki,” Loki says. “That’s my brother.” Loki waves at Thor. Thor waves back. The gallery laughs.

“Have you ever used any other names?”

“Um... Loki of Asgard, Loki Odinson, Loki Laufeyson— ooh,” Loki notices that the chair can rotate. “King of Jotenhiem, God of Mischief. Loki Silvertongue. Daryl.”

“Stop spinning,” Thor hisses. This time the gallery and the jury laugh.

Ms. Walters reaches out a hand and stops the chair. “Are you the same Loki that brought the Chitauri army to New York?”

“I was.”

“Was? Can you explain that?”

“I was him, but he was never me. He died before I was born.”

“Then why do you say you were him?” Ms. Walters asks.

“Because I remember being him, doing what he did, feeling what he felt. But I’m not him anymore. I _was_ Loki but _now_ I’m Loki.”

“Why do you say you’re not him?” Ms. Walters asks.

“Because I’m different. I was him, but I am me. I don’t want the things he wanted.”

“What do you want?”

“To say I’m sorry for what I did when I was him. And that it was wrong. I knew it was wrong, and I did it anyway. And I’m sorry. And I want a pet.”

“We’ll talk about it,” Thor says.

“A lizard or an owl.”

“Maybe a snake,” Thor suggests. Steve cringes.

“Mister Thor, please stop addressing the witness,” the judge admonishes.

“Apologies, your honor.”

“Why did you bring the Chitauri to Earth?” Ms. Walters continues.

“I had to.”

“Why did you have to?”

“Thanos made me. He wanted me to bring the Space Stone, which was on Earth, to him. He promised me that I could rule Earth once he had the Stone.”

“Did you want to rule?”

“Yes, but not Earth.”

“Then where?”

“Asgard. I wanted my father to be proud of me. If I could become king that would prove I was Thor’s equal. But I was never going to win the throne with might so I tried cleverness, but that didn’t work either. I just made my brother hate me. And my people hate me. And I hated me too. Most of all.” Loki twists a slim braid of brown and black hair between their fingers.

“How did you meet Thanos?”

“After Thor found out I had tried to take the throne for myself, we fought and the Bifrost broke. I fell. Thor caught me but I let go. I was too sad and ashamed. And hopeless. So I let go. I fell and fell for a very long time until I died.”

Thor worries his fist on the table. It’s clearly not a pleasant memory for him. Steve closes his eyes, remembering a fall that he couldn’t prevent.

“You died?” The lawyer asks.

“Yes, I died,” Loki answers, matter of factly.

“How did you come back?”

“Thanos’s children found my body. It interested them. I was a Frost Giant but looked like an Asgardian. I wore the crest of the royal family. Thanos thought I could be of use to him. He used the Mind Stone to put me back in my body.”

“Thanos brought you back to life?”

“Yes. He killed me too, but not until later. I’m thirsty. Can I have a juice box?”

Thor looks to the judge, who nods. He gets up and gives Loki a juice box. He holds it while Loki slurps on the straw.

“That’s enough, it’s too sugary.” Thor pulls the box away. “Enough!” He holds it out of Loki’s reach. Loki sighs an aggrieved sigh.

“What happened after Thanos brought you back to life?” Ms. Walters picks up her questioning.

“Um…” Loki chews on the straw. “They tortured me. Then he used the Mind Stone to make me angry and blame everyone but myself. He took the feelings that already made me do terrible things and made them louder.”

Next to Steve, Bucky wrings his hands. They’ve heard this story before, Thor told them all. It’s different to hear it from the mouth of a child.

“You didn’t want to invade Earth?”

Loki shakes their head. “No, I did. I wanted it because the Mind Stone told me I wanted it. It said I wanted revenge on Thor and on Earth. But I could still hear my own voice and it was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Thanos. I didn’t think he would really let me rule the planet. I thought he’d kill me and take it for himself. Then kill half of it. He talked about that a lot. So I didn’t do a very good job on the invasion.”

“No?”

Loki smiles like they’re sharing a secret. “I did a bad job on purpose. I convinced him we didn’t need to attack the whole world. He didn’t need to send his whole army and all of his generals. I was clever enough to get the Tesseract by myself. I convinced him that attacking one city would be enough to scare the Midgardians into cooperating. I had three days to do it my way before he’d send his entire force.

“I took the Tesseract because I had to. Invaded because I _had_ to but I made sure I was seen. I made sure they knew my name and my face. I made powerful enemies who could capture me and take the Tesseract back. I yelled and screamed and fought my brother so he would take me back to Asgard where I would be safe from Thanos, even if they did hate me there.”

For the first time, Steve considers how much of his life was shaped by Loki stealing the Tesseract. He was called into active duty after weeks of trying to adjust to his new time period, of mourning for what he’d lost. It gave him a purpose. He suddenly had colleagues who then became friends and later became family. If he hadn’t taken up the shield again HYDRA wouldn’t have sent Bucky after him. Bucky would still be an asset, a prisoner. It’s a sobering thought.

“You wanted to fail?” Ms. Walters says.

Loki nods. “It worked better than I hoped. Hulk smashed me all up until I stopped wanting what the Mind Stone told me I wanted. Thanos lost two Infinity Stones instead of just one, and I got to go home.” Loki smiles brightly. Their smile fades. “But I still hurt all those people in New York. I didn’t care about that then. I do now.”

“Loki, why did the Infinity Stones bring you back?”

“I don’t know. I think because Tony was controlling them and he wanted to kill Thanos, but the stones were using him up too fast. He would die before he could finish it. So the Stones brought me back to do it. But I don’t know why they chose me. I wasn’t told why. The Stones told me I could help my brother and destroy Thanos.”

“They told you?”

“Yes, but no. They didn’t talk and I didn’t have a body or ears, but I _heard_ them. I can’t explain it.” They shrug. “I agreed to come back. The Stones made me out of Tony. He gave them permission. He didn’t need the DNA anymore.”

“What happened to the Infinity Stones after you killed Thanos?”

“I didn’t want their power. I didn’t like it. And I liked it too much. I made them go away. I became just a human. I felt very alone. That was scary. Until I saw Thor again. Then I felt better.”

Thor loudly blows his nose into a handkerchief.

“Thank you,” Ms. Walters says.

“Am I done?” Loki hops down from the chair.

“Not yet, You have to talk to the other lawyers, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” They scramble back up to the seat.

Loki goes back to spinning in the chair while the prosecution gathers their notes. Thor drums his fingers on the table nervously. Steve leans across Sam and squeezes Thor’s shoulder.

“How are you holding up?” he asks.

“Petrified,” Thor whispers.

“Loki did well with the questions,” Steve assures him.

“We knew what Jennifer would ask. We don’t know what the prosecution has planned.”

The prosecutor approaches the stand.

“Mister Loki,” he begins.

“Not mister, just Loki.”

“Okay then, Loki, how old are you?”

“This body is a year and a half.”

“But when were you born?”

“In Midgard years?”

“Yes,”

Loki thinks about it, rocking the chair side to side. “Sometime in the 10th century.”

“You are at least 1000 years old?”

“I guess.”

“But you claim to be a child?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yet you also claim to be the same 1000-year-old man who led an invasion on this city?”

“I don’t claim to be him _now_. But I was him.”

“Are you a liar?” The Prosecutor asks.

“No.”

“We heard that you were called the God of Mischief. Were you also called the God of Lies?”

“Sometimes.” Loki sighs.

“You say you died twice. Have you ever faked your death?”

“Once.” Loki holds up one finger.

“Why?”

“I got hurt and almost died but I realized I would survive but Thor thought I was dying and seemed very very sad and if I was dead I could take my father’s throne and no one would suspect me,” they say in one breath. “That worked really well actually. But I’m not lying about this.”

“Why should we believe you?”

“I promised to tell the truth and I don’t break promises. Even when I did very bad things I made sure I did them in a way that didn’t break a promise,” Loki says proudly. Thor face-palms.

“So you are not the old Loki?”

“Right.” Loki smiles as if the prosecutor finally gets it.

“Then why are you standing trial for his crimes?”

“Because I was him and he did them. I never want to be him again. He never took responsibility for anything he did. So the only way to not be him is to take his punishment,” Loki says, wiping their eyes with the back of their hand. “I want it to be different this time. A better Loki.”

Loki is dismissed. They go back to the defense table and Thor puts his arm around their shoulder.

“Good job,” Steve hears Thor whisper to them.

“When can we go to the pet store?” they whisper back.

“After the trial,” Thor says.

The prosecution makes their closing argument, reiterating that Loki is dangerous and can’t be trusted then Ms. Walters makes her statement.

“We showed you proof that Loki is now human and a child. The prosecution could not prove that they are not. Just that there was a time when they could disguise their appearance. If you vote guilty, you will be voting to send a child to maximum security. Or worse. Why? Because they’re a danger to society? They live with the Avengers. The very people who stopped the original Loki’s invasion. This Loki poses no threat. Is it because they took part in an invasion while in fear for their life? You heard from Thanos’s daughter, Nebula, that the invasion would have happened regardless of Loki’s involvement. And on a much greater scale.

“The prosecution wants you to believe that Loki is lying. That they are not who they appear to be. I ask you, does Loki look anything like who they used to be? If you saw this child at a park or a grocery store, would you recognize them as Loki the conqueror? I wouldn’t. Then why did they turn themself in? Why stand trial? What other reason would they have for taking responsibility, if they were not sincere and contrite?”

She closes. The jury leaves to deliberate. The group returns to the waiting room. Thor gives Loki his phone to watch cartoons. Bucky paces in a corner.

“How are you doing with all this?” Steve asks.

“It’s fucked up. I got off scot-free but they’re going to send a kid to the electric chair?”

“Nobody here will let that happen.”

“Yeah, no shit. I’d like to see anyone try to get past this crowd. It’ll make the thing with the accords look like a minor scuffle.” Bucky shuffles his feet. “My…“ He glances down. “It went away,” he says out of the side of his mouth.

“Oh, that’s… good.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“No, I’m sorry it had to happen now. But at least we know it can happen.”

Bucky keeps his gaze fixed on the floor. “I want to try again.”

“Now?” Steve asks. His mind races to come up with an excuse for leaving before the verdict is read.

“Of course not now.” Bucky shakes his head. “But if things go well. When it’s over, can we…?”

“ _Yes_. Yes, we can.” He kisses Bucky’s wrist. Bucky’s cheeks flush a faint pink. He looks away, a shy smile on his lips.

Two hours later, they’re brought back in front of the judge. The jury foreman reads out the charges in the case of The City of New York v. Loki.

Terrorism: not guilty.

Assault: not guilty.

Property Damage: not guilty.

Theft: guilty.

Bucky tenses at Steve’s side.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you may leave.” The judge dismisses them. The jury files out of the courtroom.

“What now?” Loki asks.

“The judge will pass a sentence,” Ms. Walters replies.

“I’m not letting them take Loki,” Thor says, his jaw clenched.

“Stay calm. Wait for the sentence.”

“The court sentences the defendant to two years in prison.”

Steve gets to his feet. The rest of the Avengers follow his lead. Thor pulls Loki behind him.

“Thor, I promised to take the punishment,” Loki says, sounding very small. “I promised.”

“Your honor,” Ms. Walters starts.

“However under the circumstances, I cannot in good conscience order the sentence to be carried out. The defendant is in this court’s opinion a minor and has shown genuine remorse. Since the defendant was incarcerated on Asgard following the battle of New York, I am ruling time-served. The defendant is released into the custody of their brother.”

“Thank you, your honor.” Thor’s voice breaks.

“That’s it?” Loki asks.

“That’s it.” Ms. Walters goes to shake hands with the prosecutors.

“Are we going to the pet store now?” Loki tugs on Thor’s sleeve.

“Not right now,” Thor says, still visibly shaken.

“You said after the trial.”

“I didn’t mean immediately after.”

“But you saaaaid.”

“Fine, we’ll go to the pet store.”

They leave the building and have to push through the crowd of reporters to get to the cars. Natasha beckons Steve away from the line of vehicles.

“What’s up?” Steve asks.

“I called an extra car, you’re not going with us.”

“I’m not?”

“You and Barnes have a room at the Carlyle. My treat. Ask for Milo at the front desk.”

“Jeez, Nat, that’s not—” Are they that transparent? Hopefully only to someone as observant as Natasha.

“If you go back to the compound, you’ll be sucked into the celebrations. No alone time for at least five hours. Go.”

“Buck, this is our car,” Steve calls.

Bucky jogs over and hops in. “I think I talked Thor out of getting a snake. Where are we going?”

“A hotel.”

Bucky grins and squeezes his hand. They’re let out in front of the hotel.

“The Carlyle? You overdid it, Stevie. I’m a much cheaper date than this.”

“Natasha is footing the bill.” Steve shrugs. He goes to the front desk while Bucky hangs back.

“Um… is Milo here?”

“One moment.” The desk clerk picks up a phone. Approximately thirty seconds later a well dressed young man is striding toward Steve, hand outstretched.

“Mr. Evans, hello. Miss Rushman said you’d be joining us.”

“Right, yes, Evans, that’s me.”

“You and your guest can follow me.”

He leads them to an elevator and swipes a card. The door dings open and he ushers them in. They emerge twenty stories later and are led down the hall. Milo unlocks a door with the card.

“This is where I leave you. If you need anything just pick up the phone and call the front desk. Have a nice stay.” He hands over two key-cards and leaves.

“Would you look at this place?” Bucky whistles. The suite is expensively understated. Crisp white linen. Polished mahogany tables. Bucky draws aside a burgundy curtain and peers out the window. “Central Park from above. Aren’t we grand?”

There’s a gift-wrapped box on an end table. He reads the note out loud “Have fun. N”

“What is it?” Bucky asks through a mouthful of complimentary blueberries.

“Lube,” Steve says, feeling his ears turn red.

“She’s like a fairy godmother out of an x-rated fairytale.” Bucky laughs and bounces onto the enormous bed. “Get over here, Mr. what was it? Edwards?”

“Evans.” It was an alias he sometimes used when he was in hiding.

“Right, get your ass over here, Evans.”

Steve joins him on the bed. Bucky pulls him down by the tie. They kiss, holding each other close. If there was any worry that the reaction in the bathroom was a one time fluke it’s gone. Bucky is rock hard under his dress slacks.

“What do you think woke it up?” Steve asks.

“The hell if I know. Not worried about why right now.”

“Okay.” Right, now is not the time to analyze. Still, Steve can’t help taking note of the way Bucky inhales as Steve’s hands skim his sides. The way his fingertips press into Steve’s ribs. How Bucky’s eyes roll back a little each time they kiss. After imagining for so long what it would be like to be with Bucky, _really_ be with him, he doesn’t want to miss a second of this.

Bucky unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off. His flesh is covered in goosebumps. He must be hypersensitive right now. That makes sense, he went years, decades, being unable to feel anything close to arousal. It’s only natural he’d feel everything more intensely. Steve can work with that. He teases a nipple with his teeth.

“Damn, Steve,” Bucky sighs. “God _damn_ that feels good.” He’s got to be careful not to set him off too soon. He pulls Bucky’s pants off, leaving the underwear on for now. He gets his hands under Bucky’s back, raising him a little. He kisses his stomach, pushing the waistband down a centimeter or so. He works his lips across his stomach, hip to hip, teasing the waistband down a little more each time.

“Oh Christ. How long are you going to do that?”

“You ready for more?”

Bucky nods. Steve pulls the underwear down, Bucky’s dick springs loose, slick and ready.

Steve takes him in his mouth, sucking slow and steady. Just enough to feel good, not to finish him yet. Bucky moans, his fingertips dancing on Steve’s neck.

Steve releases him and stands. “Hold this for a second.”

Bucky groans but does as he’s told, holding his dick in his Vibranium hand.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, appropriately irked.

Steve takes his time getting undressed, meticulously folding his suit and setting it on a chair. He glances over his shoulder a couple of times, making sure Bucky is watching. He is, the metal hand moving slowly up and down. He picks up Bucky’s discarded clothes.

“Want me to fold yours too?”

“Fuck no!”

Steve laughs, “They’re going to get wrinkled.”

“I don’t give a shit, come back here. Smartass,” he mutters.

Steve grabs the lube and returns to the bed, straddling Bucky’s knees. He squirts lube into his hand and coats it over Bucky’s cock. Bucky writhes and Steve has to ease off to keep things from progressing faster than he wants. This is nothing like what he pictured. It’s so much better. He works the lube into himself.

“Do me a favor,” he says, “don’t move. Don’t even twitch.”

“Okay,” Bucky breathes. Steve eases himself onto him. Bucky stays perfectly, impossibly, still.

Steve takes a few breaths. “Now.”

Bucky thrusts. It hurts for a second or two and then his muscles relax and he just feels full. Steve rocks back, Bucky moves with him. He’s looking down at Bucky who is smiling up at him. That close-mouthed, overcome, on the verge of tears, smile that he’s come to know so well.

Tears are not on the agenda. Steve leans next to his ear and whispers, “Harder.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. His expression turns wicked. He places a hand on Steve’s back and rolls them over. He gets on his knees, nearly sliding out. He pulls Steve’s hips off the bed. Then slams them back down again.

“That better?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods. Bucky surges forward again. They move together again and again and again. He gives on up trying to keep a mental record. The present is just so present. Insistent. The friction between them sends him over. He ejaculates onto both of their stomachs. Bucky soon follows.

Steve pants, giving himself time to come back. Eventually, he gets up onto his elbows. Bucky is sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed, a hand on each knee. His eyes are wide, incredulous.

“Everything okay, Buck?”

“Okay?” He laughs and just about tackles Steve, covering him in kisses. “First orgasm in seventy years and you ask if I’m okay?”

“Well, are you?”

“Yes, Stevie. I’m okay. I’m so okay I’m about to burst into song.”

“Oh god please don’t! You sound like George Burns with a head cold.” Bucky’s singing voice was infamous among the Howling Commandos. He took a perverse delight in tormenting his comrades in arms with his truly awful renditions of whatever song they’d heard on the radio the night before.

“I can’t give you anything but looooooove,” Bucky croaks into Steve’s ear, “Baby.”

“I take it back. You sound like the F-train with a corroded brake pad.”

They have another go. And another. Finally stopping to order room service a little after midnight. They eat their fill and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Steve wakes alone. Bucky’s side of the bed is empty. He listens for sounds from the bathroom. Nothing. He gets up, pulling on his robe.

“Buck? Where’d you go?” He wanders through the suite. Bucky’s clothes are no longer on the chair. A stone lands in the pit of his stomach. _Stay calm, Rogers. He probably went for breakfast._

He picks up his phone and dials. Bucky’s phone rings from the other nightstand.

“Bucky!” Steve yells, trying to tamp down the panic. “Buck!” No answer.

Steve sweeps the suite again. Bucky wouldn’t just leave without telling him. Even if he didn’t want to wake him, he would have left a note, a text, something. But he left his phone, he must be coming back any second.

Steve waits a full ten minutes. Where is he? Did he really leave? Or… Oh god!

“STARK!” he bellows.

“Cap? What’s going on?” The AI answers through Steve’s speakerphone.

“Bucky’s missing. HYDRA took him,” his voice shakes. “I’m at the Carlyle hotel. Room 2109. I need the camera feed from the hallway. Midnight to now.”

“On it.

Steve starts putting on his clothes, his heart racing. How did this happen? How could he have slept through it? He can sleep through a lot but not the love of his life being torn from the bed beside him. So that’s not what happened. There’s no sign of a struggle. The room is in disarray but it all can be traced back to the previous night’s festivities. Bucky would have put up a fight. It would look like a war zone. Steve would’ve woken up.

So they didn’t forcibly take him but that doesn’t mean they don’t have him. They must have contacted him somehow. Phone, email, something. Made him come to them. But no, he wouldn’t have gone back to HYDRA willingly. And he can’t be triggered anymore. He… They threatened Steve to make Bucky cooperate. That’s the only explanation.

“Got the footage,” Stark says.

“Show me.”

The television comes to life. He sees the hallway. Timestamp 12 am. STARK forwards the footage. He sees himself opening the door for room service. Hair a mess, robe wrapped tightly around him. The footage speeds up again, hours of an empty hallway. The door opens, Bucky steps out. Timestamp 4:07 am. He’s wearing the suit he wore to court, his head bent, hiding his face from the camera, but it’s him. Steve knows his posture, his stride, his fucking metal hand. He’s alone. No one is holding a gun to his head. He walks out of view.

“Can you find him on any other cameras?”

“Yeah, hang on.”

The feed switches to the elevator. Bucky walks past it and enters the stairwell. The camera switches again to the landing below. The camera hops from floor to floor as Bucky descends. He reaches the ground floor. He passes the door to the lobby, pulls a wire attached to the emergency exit, disabling the alarm, and walks through.

“This is from a shop across the street.” Bucky’s head is visible over a few parked cars. “And this is from the lobby of an apartment complex nearby.” A person that could be Bucky can be seen in the corner of the screen, entering the subway. “That’s all I’ve got.”

Steve’s mind whirs. If there was a threat, if he had to leave, he didn’t seem to be in a great hurry. _Maybe he…_ No. Steve will not entertain that thought.

“Oh!” STARK exclaims.

“What?” Steve jumps.

“He used his code to get into the compound at 5:13!” Less than two hours ago.

“He went home?” He went home without telling Steve? Without leaving a note? Without taking his phone? It makes no sense.

“And someone left again at 5:38. Managed to avoid the cameras both times. Not sure what to tell you. Want me to raise an alarm?”

“Yes. He’s in danger. We need to find him.”

“Not for nothing, Steve, but it doesn’t look—”

“I know what it looks like, but that’s not what it is. Check his phone logs, texts, emails. You’re looking for anything out of the ordinary, threats or coded messages.”

“You’ve got it, buddy.”

Someone threatened Steve or Loki or his great-niece Helen. There’s no other explanation. They’d promised each other until the end of the line, Bucky would never run away from him. _Except for all the times he did exactly that_ , argues an unwelcome voice in his head. _He ran after the Triskelion. And when you found him in Romania._ Because he was in grave danger both times. _Not when he went into cryo after Siberia. Or when he flew back to Wakanda after you told him that you were in love with him._

“He wouldn’t leave. Not after last night,” Steve says to the empty room.

Steve checks out of the hotel, working hard to be polite to Milo when all he wants to do is scream. He calls Shuri on the way home.

“No, he hasn’t contacted me,” she says, sounding equally worried.

“You’ll let me know if he does?”

“Of course. Keep me posted.”

“Will do.”

Bucky’s bike is still in the garage when Steve gets home. He runs inside.

“Buck?” he yells.

The house is empty. His backpack is missing from the hall closet. One or two pieces of clothing are gone from his dresser. He took all of his medication. Every last pill. He can get clothes anywhere. He can obtain another vehicle. But he needs the meds to survive. Shuri sent him home from their last visit with a year’s supply. He took all of it. Wherever he went he doesn’t think he’ll be back for a long time. Must have been one hell of a threat.

The book he was reading isn’t on the nightstand. He took a book with him? Why would… You don’t take a book on a run for your life. HYDRA isn’t going to give him downtime to finish _We Have Always Lived in The Castle._ He— He’s not in danger. He just left.

“Fuck.” Steve sinks onto the bed. Bucky was okay last night. He was more than okay, he was happy. What happened?

Steve happened. He pushed him too far, too fast, so he left.

“Boss? The team is waiting for you in the war room,” STARK says.

“Cancel the meeting. False alarm.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for making you wait so long and then doing that to the boys. This chapter was a beast to and it being so long means I had to send it the betas in two halves and then took even longer to revise. Hopefully there won't any more gaps this long between updates.
> 
> Some of this was written before I saw Endgame and some after but most was already planned out long before including the details of how the team beat Thanos.
> 
> If you want to know more about how Steve got infected with the Infinity Stones you can find this fic's predecessor Waking Dreams on my author page. And if you're interested in how I "fixed" the Endgame ending, look for End Days (that one isn't in continuity with this story).


	10. Chapter 10

- _Steve_ -

 

“Eliot from the strike team is pretty cute, huh?” Natasha says, flipping back to her feet.

“Eliot? Curly hair, big brown eyes? Yeah, not bad.” Steve hits a large insect-like creature with the shield.

“You should ask him out. He’d say yes.”

“Maybe you should. You’re the one who thinks he’s cute.” Steve shoves one of the creatures into the path of an oncoming truck.

“But I’m not the one he has a crush on,” she counters.

“Not interested.” One of them knocks Steve down. Its pincers close around his throat. He kicks it off and Nat finishes it with an electric pulse.

“That’s all, folks. Scott’s idea worked. The hive imploded. You can stop distracting the infantry.” STARK says into his earpiece.

They walk back to the Quinjet.

“There’s this girl in my yoga class who’s asked about you a couple of times,” Nat says, wiping viscera onto a tree. “She’s kind of nerdy-hot.”

“Nat, are we really doing this again? I’m not looking for a new relationship.”

“Did I say anything about a relationship? I’m suggesting you do something to pull yourself out of this funk.”

“I’m not in a funk. I’m fine.” Steve shakes his head. He’s pretty sure her motivation is fifty percent genuine concern and fifty percent a desire to get on his nerves.

“You can keep saying you’re fine but the neckbeard tells a different story.”

“Give me a break, Romanoff. I’ve been in the field for weeks. I haven’t had time to shave.”

“You were a fugitive for two years—”

“And I also grew a beard.”

“Not a neckbeard.”

Steve sighs. “You win. I feel like crap most of the time. A date isn’t going to change that.”

“You can’t know that unless you try,” Natasha says.

“If I go on a date and still feel lousy, will you let it go?”

“If you also shave your neck? Yes.”

“Nat, will you go to dinner with me?”

She quirks an eyebrow. “You think I won’t call your bluff?”

“Counting on it.”

“Fine, how about tomorrow night?”

“Works for me,” Steve says. Perfect, now he doesn’t have to ask anyone else. “What kind of flowers do you like?”

“Peonies. What time?”

“Seven.”

“Can’t wait.”

Fury calls. They spend the rest of the flight home reviewing the operation. Steve gets back to the house, showers off the bug guts, and crawls into bed.

He wakes to a crowing rooster. He trudges through calf-high snow to the chicken pen and tosses a few scoops of feed over the fence. He’s grown to hate the chickens. Not for any particular reason. They’re just always there, reminding him that Bucky isn’t.

Natasha texts, checking that they’re still on.

 _We’re on. Wear something warm,_ he responds. He makes a few calls, finding it impossible to get a reservation on such short notice. He ends up calling Happy Hogan who pulls a few strings to get them a table at Tony and Pepper’s go-to date spot. He leaves to buy flowers around noon, a task that proves harder than anticipated. He’s told at the first shop that peonies aren’t readily available after October. He tries three more florists before admitting defeat and selecting pink flowers that could be mistaken for peonies from a distance.

He returns to the compound and runs into Vision and STARK clearing paths in the snow with their heat beams.

“Ah, camellia!” Vision says, eyeing the bouquet under Steve’s arm. “Such robust blossoms!“

“Yeah, yeah, very pretty,” STARK says. “I’m more interested in why Captain Neckbeard is buying flowers. Who’s the lucky rebound?”

Steve sighs. Apparently, he’s done a terrible job at appearing okay. He tells them about the “date.”

“So it’s not so much a date as a dare?” STARK asks.

“Pretty much.”

“Glad to hear it. If you get over He Shall Not Be Named, I’ll have no company for my misery.”

“What misery is that?” Steve asks.

“My wife won’t acknowledge my existence and my daughter is growing up without me.”

“STARK, do you think you’re— are you Tony?” Steve’s not sure that’s exactly what he meant to ask, but he’s at a loss for words.

“Who else would I be?” he asks, sounding exactly like Tony at his most patronizing.

“A copy. A program that’s very good at mimicking his personality.” That’s how Bruce explained it.

“Oh sure, I’m a copy. Loki got the DNA but I got everything else. All his memories and all the feelings that go with them.”

Steve is stunned. “So you love Pepper and she...”

“Thinks of me as an unwanted OS update. Yeah. You’d think since I no longer have a heart, I couldn’t be heartbroken, but…” The armor shrugs.

“STARK, sir, I may be able to assist you,” Vision says. Steve had forgotten he was there. He’s gotten very good at going unnoticed. “I too was rejected by the woman I loved.”

“Yes, and I’ll admit, you’ve taken it like a champ,” STARK says. It’s true. Vision disappeared for three weeks after the breakup with Wanda. When he returned he seemed to have completely moved on.

“As inorganic beings, you and I have an advantage over biological lifeforms such as Steve. I can help you delete your memories of Ms. Potts and Amelia.”

STARK takes a step back. “Is that what you did?”

“No. Since I work with Wanda, often under hazardous conditions, it would be unethical and dangerous to have no memory of her. I merely encrypted all of my feelings for her and filed them away in my locked storage. However, your code is not as sophisticated as mine so deleting your knowledge of your family is a more efficient way to ease your pain.”

“That’s a sweet offer, big guy. Disturbing and possibly sociopathic but sweet. I’ll pass.”

“Very well. The offer stands.” Vision nods. “Enjoy your date, Steve.”

He presses his suit, showers, and shaves. He can’t stop thinking about Vision’s method of getting over a breakup. It’s been almost three months since Bucky left, they were only together for four. Two weeks after Bucky left, he’d gone around the house collecting everything that belonged to Bucky and put it in his room—in the guest room. But he’s still finding things in unexpected places. Most recently a half-eaten bag of candied ginger in the glovebox of the car. Each time it feels like a fist closing around his heart. He wishes he had the option to delete those feelings.

He changes into his suit, navy with a subtle blue check. This would be a great time to wear that cashmere coat Bucky bought for him, but he just can’t. He bundles up in his old wool peacoat and knocks on Natasha’s door.

“Thank you.” She takes the bouquet, not mentioning the lack of peonies, and goes back inside to put them in water. “You shaved.”

“You ordered me to.”

“You could’ve kept the beard. It was just the neck fuzz I objected to.”

“Too bad. Now you’ve got to look at my face all night.”

“All night? Going to take more than flowers for that, buddy.” She winks.

Steve laughs. “I’ve got something planned.” He offers her his arm and leads her to the car.

They get to the restaurant. The hostess seats them at a table separated from the rest of the patrons by an arch and thick curtains. He understands why Tony and Pepper liked it, they would’ve wanted the privacy, but it’s a little more intimate than Steve was expecting. Nat shrugs out of her coat. She took his instructions to wear something warm to heart. She went with a figure-hugging burgundy sweater-dress over tights. Steve flinches. _It’s the exact color of the curtains at the Carlyle._

The waiter takes their orders.

“This is a nice place,” she says.

“I wouldn’t take my date to a dump.”

“Steve,” she whispers, leaning over the table, “just admit this isn’t a date.”

“What are you talking about? I’m wearing a suit. I bought you flowers. No neckbeard. Romance!” he says, making a voilà gesture.

“Really? Then it won’t bother you if I do this?” She leans in further, giving Steve a view of her cleavage. She reaches over and squeezes his knee.

“Nope, doesn’t bother me at all.” Heat rushes to his ears. Her hand moves up his thigh. He jumps, wobbling the table. She withdraws her hand, laughing.

“This isn’t a date because you have no feelings for me.” She looks smug.

“I have feelings for you. We’re friends.”

“Okay, yes, I’m your platonic work-friend.”

“Not just a work-friend,” Steve argues, “a friend-friend.”

“My point is you don’t want to date me and that’s fine. If I wanted to date you I would’ve asked years ago. But it’s okay for you to want to date someone. You get more than one chance at a relationship. Just because the last one didn’t work out, doesn’t mean the next one won’t.”

Steve looks away. “I don’t want the next one.”

“Uh-hm, I know. But when you do, try not to beat yourself up about it.”

They get their appetizers; the food is transcendent. They talk and tell stories. The entrees are even better.

“I’m glad you asked me, even if you only did it to be difficult,” Natasha says over dessert.

“Not just to be difficult. If I had to do this I figured it should be with someone I like.”

“That’s sweet.” She raises her glass. “To platonic work-friends?”

“Platonic work-friends,” he echoes.

After dinner, he pays the bill and they put their coats back on. “We’ll be walking to our next stop.”

“Okay?” She raises an eyebrow. It’s a brisk seven degrees out. He leads her to Rockefeller Center.

“Know how to skate?” he asks.

“A little.” She smiles. According to Clint, she’s better than the last three Olympic gold medalists combined. Before the serum, Steve loved to skate. He couldn’t handle more than ten minutes at a time, but for those ten minutes, he was fast.

They get into the ticket line.

“Think we’ll get in? That’s a lot of people.”

“Next session starts at 9. It’s cold enough that half of them will give up by 8:50.” Steve thought getting into line by 8:30 would be plenty of time but he hadn’t counted on the December crowd.

They lean over the railing and watch people skating in front of the enormous Christmas tree. By 8:55 it’s a bracing 4 degrees. A good portion of the line has left. Natasha is hopping from foot to foot. They start letting people in. He walks up to the ticket window. “Two please.”

“Sure thing. Need skates?”

“Men’s twelve and women’s…”

“Eight.”

“Okay, that’ll be $78.”

Steve reels. He didn’t realize you needed to be an actual Rockefeller to skate at Rockefeller Center these days. He already spent $200 on dinner, what’s a little more? He pays and takes the tickets.

“Wait, there’s been a mistake. These are for the 10:30 session.”

“Oh yeah, 9 sold out an hour ago.”

Natasha laughs, hugging her shoulders for warmth. They give their tickets to a couple of teenage tourists and walk back to his car.

Nat doesn’t stop laughing until they reach the compound. By then, Steve’s laughing too. He walks her to her door and kisses her on the cheek. “Thank you. That was fun. At least the indoor part was.”

“Still feel lousy?”

“Yeah, but not quite as much.”

He turns to walk back to his house.

“Steve?” she calls.

“Yeah?”

“It’s only 9:30. The pool is heated. Want to go skinny-dipping with a platonic work-friend?”

“Why not?” He’s pretty sure she was trying to shock him with the suggestion, but he’s no stranger to nude swimming. When he was a kid swimming naked was considered more hygienic than a bathing suit. He never did it in mixed company, but she said it herself, they’re platonic work-friends.

She unlocks the field-house, double-checks that it’s empty, then lets them into the pool. She leaves the overhead lights off, only flipping on the pool lights. The water glows.

“STARK?” Steve says to the intercom.

“Howdy, Captain Casanova. What can I help you with?”

“I need you to turn off all cameras and microphones around the pool.”

“Roger that, Rogers. Shutting off everything but the emergency channel as of—” The sound cuts out.

Natasha has already removed her tights. She pulls the dress over her head. Steve reflexively turns away. When he looks back she’s nude, her back to him, perched on the edge of the pool. She has a beautiful body. That’s no surprise. The surprise is the way his stomach tightens at the sight. She dives into the water, barely making a splash.

She comes to the surface, slicking her hair back with her hands. “Well? You going to let me do this alone?”

Steve takes off the jacket and begins to fold it. What the hell, what does it matter if it gets a little wrinkled? He strips off the rest of his clothes, tossing them on a deck chair.

He takes a few steps back and cannonballs into the pool. They splash each other for a few minutes until she takes off for the opposite end. They race each other back and forth. Steve wins. On the tenth lap, he pauses in the center of the pool, realizing she’s no longer with him. She’s still at the wall, her arms stretched along the edge. She stares at him, head tilted.

“What?”

“Want to fuck a platonic work-friend?”

Steve laughs, blowing a raspberry in the water. She keeps staring.

“You’re serious?”

She nods.

“But this wasn’t a date.”

“Nope, it wasn’t.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Is there a rule that friends can’t have sex?”

“Nat, I know you’re trying to help me and I appr—”

“Hold that thought,” she interrupts, pushing off from the wall. “This is not about helping you. I don’t sleep with people for their emotional growth. I’m not some kind of erotic therapist. This isn’t premeditated. You look good without your clothes. I got turned on. That’s all. I don’t want to fuck you to a catharsis. I just want to fuck you.”

“Oh.” Steve gulps.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. But you don’t normally keep a condom in your wallet. I noticed it when you paid for dinner. I think maybe the idea has occurred to you too.”

Steve wonders for a second how she knows what is normally in his wallet, but he's distracted by the blood rushing to his groin. She puts a hand on his chest, her thumb circling his nipple. His pulse speeds up.

“You can say no. I won’t be offended. We’ll stay friends either way. But I’ll be a little disappointed. I’ve been wondering what it would be like since 2014 or so.”

“You have?”

“Not pining, just curious.” She reaches around and cups his ass, then traces her hand up his spine. Steve pulls her closer and kisses her. Her tongue slides under his. His heart pounds in his ears. Her hips grind into him. He’s grown undeniably excited. She pulls back. “Steve, I’ll happily ride your cock before we’re done, but there are things I enjoy more. Have you been with a woman?”

“I’ve been with a woman.” Steve blushes.

“How many?”

“One.”

“And that was in the Forties?”

“Thirties,” he admits.

“The woman? Did she get off?”

Steve sucks his teeth. “I doubt it.”

She nods and hops onto the edge of the pool, her legs dangling in the water. She beckons him over. She takes his hand and places it between her legs. “Feel that?”

“Yes.”

She sets her fingers over his and guides them in a figure-eight pattern. He follows her example and she releases his hand. She leans back, biting her lip. “Speed up.”

He does. After a minute or two, she taps his wrist to stop. “Think you can do that with your tongue?”

“Uh-huh.”

She reclines on her elbows. Steve stoops and lets her steer his head into position. He’s momentarily put off by the taste of chlorine but it fades quickly. At first, Natasha keeps her hand in his hair, pushing him up or down, while giving the occasional instruction. Her hand falls away and her thighs tighten around his ears. Steve is uncomfortably erect. She’s breathing heavily, her heels digging into his back. She tenses, arching her back, and then relaxes.

“Okay. That’s good. Thanks.” She scratches his head. Steve straightens up. “Good first effort. Go get the condom.” She cocks her head toward the deck chair.

Steve climbs out of the pool. The cold air has a dampening effect. He can’t explain what made him add the condom to his wallet. He didn’t think this was going to happen. But she wasn’t wrong, he has considered it. Ever since she’d kissed him on the escalator in DC. He retrieves the condom and drops next to her on the wall. She gives him a few vigorous jerks, perking him back up, then rolls the condom onto him. She slides back into the water. Steve follows.

She balances on his hips, tilts his head up, and kisses him. She nods. He pushes into her. It’s not embarrassingly brief, but it doesn’t take him very long to finish.

They break apart and Natasha swims to the other side of the pool. Steve stares down at the water as the adrenaline drains away. He gets out of the water long enough to discard the condom. He sinks back into the pool. That felt great in the moment, but… If he were with Bucky they’d be holding each other right now, he could look into his eyes and feel loved. He doesn’t want that from Nat.

She swims back to him.

“You look upset.”

“No, I’m okay.”

“Uh-huh. Alright, I meant it when I said I’m not a therapist and I didn’t fuck you to make you feel better. But I am your friend and I don’t think you have anyone else to talk to. So talk.”

Steve takes a deep breath. It means a lot that she’s willing to listen.

“I’m so angry at him, Nat.”

“I’m not surprised. Leaving like that was shitty.”

“Yeah, it was. It pisses me off that he couldn’t tell me why. That he’s left me hanging for three months. He couldn’t say it to my face, which is bad enough, but nothing? Not even a letter? A text?

“And I’m scared. I don’t know what’s going on in his head. What he might be doing to himself. I can’t stop thinking that the next time I see his face it’ll be on a slab.” Steve exhales.

Nat pats his bicep. “That’s rough. I’m sorry.”

He’s grateful that she’s not trying to reassure him, telling him there’s nothing to worry about.

“I don’t even want him to come back, I just want to know that he’s safe.” Steve shakes his head. “No, that’s a lie. I want him to come back!” He says in a half-laugh half-sob.

“Would you take him back if he did?”

“I don’t know. I still love him, but he left me. So why does it feel like I just cheated on him? And I hate that part of me is happy to have gotten a small measure of revenge. But mostly I miss him.”

Nat sighs. “I’m really not a therapist.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that a few times now.”

“I’ve never felt about anyone the way you do about him.”

“Never?” Steve stares at her.

“I’ve got a few walls up.”

“What? You?”

She laughs and slaps his chest with the back of her hand.

“So I’ve been told. Regardless, I know what’s it’s like to have someone disappear on you. It sucked. And I knew it was entirely his baggage. Which he did explain eventually. Didn’t make it hurt less at the time. Still, I’m glad I forgave him.”

“But you didn’t take him back.”

“It had only just started when he took off. Maybe it could’ve been more, but it was too late by the time he came back.”

“Do you think Bucky will come back?” He’s not sure why he’s asking. It’s not like she could know.

“I don’t know. I hope he does for your sake.”

“Thanks.”

He runs his hands through the water.

“Does this change anything between us?”

“Not as far as I’m concerned.”

“Is your curiosity satisfied?”

“Oh, it was pretty much exactly what I expected. I figured you’d be physically impressive,” She brushes her knuckles down his abs; his stomach constricts, “but inexperienced. Hopefully teachable. And an emotional mess afterward.”

Steve belly laughs, holding his chest. He scoops up a handful of water and dumps it over her head. She grabs his arm and drags him underwater. They play fight for another half hour.

A sequence of beeps sound from the overhead speaker, the sign that an emergency transmission is coming.

“Sorry to interrupt, water babies,” STARK says. “You both need to suit up. We’ve got an escalating situation in Queens.”

* * *

- _Bucky_ -

 

Bucky wakes up shivering under his meager blankets. His only window is frosted over. It was negative 12 yesterday, it’s going to be colder today. The moment he stirs, the mean cat yowls at him, screeching for breakfast. He spotted the cat cowering in the snow almost a week ago; a skinny, dun-colored wretch with a mangled ear and half a tail. He took pity on it and left a few bites of his dinner outside the RV. When he opened the door to collect the plate, the little asshole streaked past him and curled up in front of his tiny space heater.

Bucky opens his last can of cat food. He only bought a few days worth, but it’s been so cold he hasn’t had the heart to kick it out. He puts the food on the floor. The cat hisses and swipes at his ankle. It’s a vicious bastard. He can’t get near it without it attempting to draw blood.

“Yeah, fuck you too, you dick. Soon as it’s above freezing, you’re out on your ass.”

He takes his meds and eats breakfast. He’s running out of food for himself too. He’ll have to walk into town. Five miles. He’s not ready to leave the comparative warmth of the RV so he puts it off by opening up his notebook. He’s reverted to how he lived after escaping HYDRA. Only now, instead of writing down snatches of memories as they came to him, he’s filling up notebooks with unsent letters to Steve.

He’s written so many versions of the same letter. Trying to explain why he couldn’t make it to the end of the line. He only manages a couple of paragraphs. He rests his head on the table, waiting for the hollow ache in his chest to pass. The cat seizes the opportunity to lick his plate clean, then claws at Bucky’s scalp for shits and giggles. “Fuck off, mean cat.” He pushes it away with the metal hand, which it has finally stopped trying to break its teeth on.

He returns the notebook to its hiding spot in the driver-seat headrest. Then takes a couple of twenties from his stash in the air vent. So far, he’s only used two thousand of the 20k he took with him, seven hundred of which bought him a used RV. At this rate, he won’t have to worry about money for at least a year.

He scoops out the disposable roasting pan he’d turned into a litter box and leaves a bowl of fresh water on the floor. He puts on all the layers he can find and reluctantly heads outside. The low magnification reading glasses he wears in public immediately fog over.

“Fucking Michigan,” he mutters. Every breath is like swallowing a knife. He needs to pull up stakes soon, he’s already been there longer than he likes to stay in one spot. By the time he reaches the main street, he can’t feel his ears. He bypasses the grocery store. He can’t do the return walk just yet. He goes into the tiny library instead. It’s warmer than the store and he can stay for a few hours. The nicer librarian is behind the desk. Last time he was here the other one called him a meth-head when he thought Bucky couldn’t hear.

He wanders into the modest stacks. He doesn’t have a library card, he can’t check anything out. There’s only so many times he can read _We Have Always Lived in The Castle_. He picks out _The Best American Fantasy of 1996,_ leans on the shelf and reads the first two stories. A patron pauses at the end of the aisle. Out of habit, Bucky lowers his head to hide his face in his hair, but he cut it before leaving Indiana. He caught someone watching him while he was filling the RV at a service station. He paid and drove off, not stopping for five hours. When he finally pulled over, he grabbed his scissors and lopped it off by the handful.

The patron walks up the aisle.

“Excuse me,” she says. Bucky presses his back to the dented aluminum shelves, to give her room to pass. He tucks his left hand into his armpit. He’s wearing gloves, but he doesn’t like being this close to anyone. She walks around him, pulls a book from the shelf and leaves.

He’s sufficiently warmed, he should get his groceries. He moves to one of the two public computers and types “Avengers, breaking news” into the search box. His radio broke a few weeks ago, he hasn’t been able to keep up to date. The Avengers have been busy. Nothing big enough to merit live coverage. Just what SHIELD is willing to share after the fact, reports of where they were and what they fought. Steve has been hopping from mission to mission as far as he can tell. Just yesterday, he and Romanoff were fighting giant man-eating bugs in the Amazon. No reports of injuries. Everyone appears to be well.

He searches for “Wakanda, Princess Shuri, King T’Challa” He reads an article about the expansion of the Oakland outreach center. There’s a big picture of Shuri and a bunch of kids. He returns to the search page and types “Steve Rogers.” He scrolls through pages of familiar results, stopping at one he’d overlooked before because Steve’s name wasn’t in the link. It’s a website called _Earth’s Mightiest Forum._ The link details say that Steve is mentioned over 900 times. Bucky opens the page. It’s a discussion board with topics such as “Epic Thor Derp Faces,” “Captain Marvel appreciation thread,” and one puzzlingly called “Steve Rogers thirst thread.” They’re worried Steve is dehydrated? Bucky clicks through.

The first post reads “legs for days!!!” and contains a picture of Steve sitting low in a chair, his legs stretched out in front of him. It was taken at a conference on chronic childhood illnesses where he was a guest speaker. Another post says “WHO EVEN HAS EYES TAHT FUCKING BLU!? WTF!” accompanied by a close up of his profile. What does any of this have to do with how much water he’s drinking?

It takes a few more posts for him to understand that thirst means they think he’s attractive. He’s not sure what Steve would find more mortifying, the pictures of his ass or the people discussing the pictures of his ass. “I want someone to look at me like that!” Someone comments on a photo taken after the Medal of Honor ceremony. Steve is smiling at someone off-camera. Bucky. He was smiling at Bucky. That wasn’t even a year ago.

Thinking about that day hurts. That was before he knew how Steve felt about him. Before he understood the extent of his feelings for Steve. Everything had seemed bright and possible. Getting the medal was a little overwhelming but it also meant there was more to his story than the Winter Soldier. And there was the prospect of spending a whole month in Steve’s company. He didn’t care about the crowd at the airport. He even gave them a show, doing tricks like a circus performer. He actually thought he was better.

He closes his eyes and sees Steve asleep in the hotel bed. Unaware of what he was sleeping next to. Bucky will never be better. He scratches at the inside of his wrist. He’s about to cry in the library. That can’t happen. He exits the forum and puts his coat and hat back on. The extreme cold snaps him back to the here and now. He buys his groceries and starts the long walk back to the RV. He’s got to get the Hell out of Michigan. He’ll head South. Somewhere with weather that doesn’t make his balls retreat into his torso.

He reaches the RV and stops dead. The door is cracked open. He locked it. He _always_ locks it. What the fuck? He drops the groceries in the snow. Holding his breath, Bucky sweeps the RV. It’s empty. Whoever broke in is gone. So is the cat. They must have scared it away. The little monster is going to freeze to death. _Fuck_.

They ransacked the place. Bucky barely has any possessions and nearly all of them are on the floor. Everything that wasn’t taken that is. The air vent is hanging open. $18k gone. _Fuck!_ The notebook is still in the headrest. _Thank god._ They took his space heater. _Bastards_. His bath towel is missing. And a frying pan. His best blanket. His second pair of jeans. They took his fucking Thin Mints!

He goes back outside and retrieves the groceries. It’s almost funny, someone robbed HYDRA’s deadliest asset. It can all be replaced. Except for the mean cat. He calls for it a few times and clicks his tongue, hoping it’s just hiding nearby.

He’s still got nearly 3 million in his account. He can withdraw more cash. He doesn’t want to. Every withdrawal is a GPS marker for anyone looking for him. He’ll drive fifty miles, find an ATM, get the cash, then drive 100 miles in another direction. It’s a risk but it was time to move on any—

“Fuck, no, fuck!” His meds! They found his medication. The thief probably thought they could sell them. Shit! How could he have been so careless? He should’ve taken more precautions, but he didn’t think he had anything left to lose.

He needs the meds. He can go without the sleeping pills and painkillers. It will be unpleasant but he’ll survive. But the anxiety pills? He could use one right now. He was hanging on by a thread while taking them regularly. _Fuck_.

Losing the memory meds is even scarier. He is going to start forgetting. Not his grandmother’s maiden name or how many times Steve got up when Dino Mariano’s gang cornered them after church. But he’ll go to the store and won’t remember where he left the RV. Worse, he’ll forget to shut off the engine and gas himself in his sleep.

Which would be preferable to kidney failure. Shuri said he had another year or two before he’d need a transplant, but that’s with the meds. Without them who knows how long he has?

Fuck. _Fuckfuckfuck._

He doesn’t remember doing it, but he’s on the floor, forehead pressed to his knees, arms over his head. Like he’s bracing for a bomb to drop. Only it already has. He’s fucked. Without the meds, he’s fucked. The only mercy is that he sometimes won’t remember that he’s fucked. Tears soak his jeans. Even this pathetic existence is falling to shit. He couldn’t even keep one terrible cat alive. He may as well shove a towel in the tailpipe and put an end to it right now.

The crying turns to wrenching, desperate sobs. He can’t control it. He can’t calm down, he can barely breathe. His heart is racing. He’s so fucking tired, but his brain won’t stop screaming recriminations at him.

His hand buzzes next to his ear. That’s all he needs, another thing to break on h— His hand is buzzing? His left hand?

He manages a few stuttering breaths and stares at the vibrating prosthetic. The words “PANIC MODE” glow red in the center of his palm. They vanish and are replaced by “Press for HELP” inside a circle of oscillating lights.

“What the fuck?”

“PANIC MODE” “Press for HELP” blink at him from his hand. He taps the circle. It fades and “Connecting” appears in a soothing blue font.

“Bucky? Is that you?” Shuri’s voice comes from the back of his hand.

“Yeah, it’s me,” his voice breaks.

“Oh my god! I’ve been so worried about you! Are you okay?”

“N-no.”

“Of course you’re not okay. Panic mode only kicks in if your heart-rate spikes too many times in under five minutes. Are you in immediate danger?”

“Uh, no. Not immediate.” He pulls his knees closer to his chest.

“Is someone holding you against your will? Can you speak freely?”

“No, no one— I’m not a prisoner. I’m not being controlled.”

“Oh.” He hears her take a breath. “Okay. How can I help?”

“I need more meds.”

“Which ones?”

“All of them.”

“All of them?” She’s made her voice very gentle. Like she’s trying to calm a skittish animal.

“I was robbed.”

“I see. I can send you refills but I need you to tell me where you are. There’s a GPS locator in your arm. It’s not active. If you turn it on, I can have a drone bring them to you. Do you understand?”

“You’ll send the meds?” The panic ebbs, leaving Bucky drained. His mind has gone sluggish and heavy.

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Swipe twice on your palm, right to left. The GPS button will appear.” He follows her instructions but it feels like wading through molasses. A purple on/off toggle lights up on his wrist. “Good, I’ve got a location. The drone should be there in two hours.”

“Thank you.” Bucky gasps, scraping his other wrist with a metal finger. “Thank you.”

“May I tell Steve that I spoke to you? He’s also been worried.”

“Tell Steve… tell him…” _Tell him I love him._ He can’t say that. He can’t give Steve false hope. “Tell him nothing. Please.”

Shuri is quiet for what feels like hours to his muddled brain. “Did he do something to hurt you? Or frighten you?”

“He didn’t,” Bucky moans. “No. He was good to me. It’s not him.”

“Then can you tell me—”

“No more, please. Questions. I can’t. Shuri, please.” The impossible weight of anxiety is pressing down on him again.

“All right. You don’t have to tell me, but I’d like to help if I can. I’ll have someone pick you up. Bring you back to Wakanda. I’ll run more tests. We can try other treatments. Let me help.”

Back to Wakanda. Bucky closes his eyes. It’s like music. Back to Wakanda. He could crawl into a cryo chamber. Turn everything off. Not have to feel a thing. Years of silence. It’s beautiful.

Steve would find out. It would get back to him. He wouldn’t move on. Wouldn’t live for himself. He’d just wait for Bucky to wake. For him to be fixed. He’d wait forever.

“No,” he whispers. “No, I’m not coming back.” He inhales. “If I turn off the GPS, will I still get the meds?”

“The drone will go to your last coordinates. You just have to stay nearby.”

Bucky turns off the GPS. Words blink on his palm again. “Exit Panic Mode?” Exit is highlighted, it’s a button. Bucky presses it. The lights go out.

He gets up, goes to the sink and puts his head on under the faucet, letting the water run down his neck. He feels like shit for hanging up on her. One more item to add to the list of shitty things he’s done to the people he cares about. If he’d spoken to Shuri much longer, he would’ve given in, gone to Wakanda and let her try. Let her waste her time and energy. Made her feel bad when she failed. He leans over the sink, trying to breathe normally.

A scrabbling noise comes from under there sink. Bucky jumps back and opens the cabinet. The cat steps out and meows at him.

“Mean cat!” Bucky gasps, relief surging through him.

The cat rubs its head on his shin. It looks up at him, expectantly, then head-butts him again. Bucky bends down and extends a hand. The cat lets him scratch its head for a few seconds before snapping at his fingers.

“Asshole.” Bucky chuckles. He feeds it a few slices of smoked salmon, cleans up the mess from the break-in and finally puts away his groceries. After an hour, he puts on his coat and goes outside to wait for the drone. It arrives, leaving a large box in the snow. He snatches it up and brings it back inside. It’s all there. More than a year’s supply. Thank God for Shuri. There’s also a letter of instructions for how to activate the voice connection without a panic attack.

He drives for two hours until he’s satisfied he’s put enough distance between him and where the drone landed. He makes sure everything is secure and locked and finds an ATM. He withdraws as much as it will allow. He turns and drives another two hours, parks and goes to bed. The following morning after taking his meds, he drives again. South and west, into Illinois and then Iowa. He finds a remote place to camp. It’s marginally warmer than Michigan, but not warm enough to safely evict the mean cat. He chances a walk to the nearest town, having driven through it earlier. He brings his backpack, with all his money and meds within. He’s not making that mistake again.

He locates the library. It’s a little bigger than the last one. He waits for one of the three public computers to be available. He takes his turn and searches for “Avengers, breaking news.” His eyes fall on the first result and his heart stops.

CAPTAIN AMERICA HOSPITALIZED WITH LIFE-THREATENING INJURIES

 


	11. Chapter 11

- _Bucky_ -

 

Bucky drives nonstop for twelve hours, mean cat yowling in protest the entire time. _Life-threatening injuries. Life-threatening injuries,_ he repeats to himself. The article said the incident started when a group of powered criminals targeted Spider-man. The only thing they had in common was that they all had been bested by him in the past. The kid is pretty damn capable for someone his age, but they had him outnumbered. Then the Avengers showed up. It sounds like a bad fight. It took place in the middle of a busy stretch of Queens. The heroes spent as much time getting bystanders to safety as they did trying to subdue the villains. 

According to the report, Steve was working on extracting people from a car wreck when he was charged by an asshole in a rhino costume. The guy was twice the size as a real rhino, as big as the Hulkbuster armor. Steve didn't have the shield, he’d thrown it to Black Widow who was battling a man with robotic tentacles. He was blindsided, the rhino man knocked him off his feet. Steve got back up, but he was wobbly. The guy charged again, skewering Steve on his horn and crashing them both through a wall. Then part of the building collapsed on them.

Steve was rushed to the ER with LIFE-THREATENING INJURIES. Life-threatening injuries means it’s serious but he’s not dead. Yet. Bucky jabs at the broken radio, cursing. He needs an update. It’s been twelve hours. Long enough for the injuries to go from life-threatening to life-ending.

Steve might be dead. Bucky believed Steve was dead once before. He’d come home bone-tired from a double shift with the road crew to find that Steve had never gotten out of bed. He was weak and feverish. Bucky did some mental calculations and determined it would take less time to get to the hospital by subway than to wake the neighbors who sometimes let them use their telephone and wait for an ambulance. So he bundled Steve in a blanket and carried him to the train. Steve didn’t argue when Bucky told him they were going to the hospital: a very bad sign. By the time Bucky got them on the subway, he was feeling nearly as bad Steve looked. It wasn’t unusual for them to catch the same bug, but Bucky rarely got as sick as Steve. This time was different. They huddled together, sweating through chills. A guy on the train called them pansies and Steve, sick as a he was, balled up his fist and told him to say it to his face. Bucky gave the man every cent he had on him and begged him to leave them alone. By some miracle, Bucky got them to street level and through the hospital doors before collapsing at the triage desk.

It’s all a bit of a blur after that. They were diagnosed with Diphtheria and admitted to the same ward. He drifted in and out of consciousness for he’s not sure how long, but at one point a priest stood over Steve’s bed. Bucky’s fever-addled brain decided that Steve couldn’t die if he didn’t get the last rites. Bucky tried to scream but he was too hoarse to make much noise and after a few minutes he blacked out. The next time he woke, Steve’s bed was empty. It finally happened, Steve had gone and Bucky wasn’t there to see him off. Bucky didn’t cry. The pain was too acute for tears.

Over the next few days, Bucky barely noticed himself getting better. He never stayed down for long. His mother arrived after a week to take him home.

“Steve’s dead,” he told her as she helped him out of the hospital

“What? Don’t be silly, Stevie isn’t dead.” She laughed. “He was the one who got the nurses to call me.”

The fever had gone to Steve’s heart, she explained. They moved him to another ward to keep a closer eye on him. The doctors had declared him out of danger the previous night but the illness had taken a physical toll. He would be staying at the hospital to convalesce, but he wasn’t dead. Bucky’s legs gave out on him, he fell into his mother’s arms weeping.

About three hours from the city limits, Bucky’s head starts to nod. An insistent horn blast wakes him up. The RV is scraping along the concrete barrier. Bucky pulls it back into the lane and takes the next exit. He parks in a truck-stop lot and sleeps until sunrise. He locates the hospital from the article then finds a parking spot within walking distance. He bundles up for the cold, grabs his backpack of meds, leaves the heat on and a bowl of water out for the cat. Just before walking out the door, he grabs a hammer and smashes it down on his foot. He hobbles toward the hospital, past several dormant news vans and people wearing Avengers merchandise. _Please let Steve be there. Please let him be alive._

He limps into the ER.

“I dropped a free-weight on my foot,” he groans. “I think I broke a toe.”

The nurse has him remove his shoe and examines the swollen and bruised appendage. She nods.

“Have a seat, someone will come and get you soon.”

Bucky sits in the waiting area with the other non-urgent ER patients. A large TV blares on the wall. A morning news program is just starting. Bucky sits through a report on the president’s overseas state visit. The second item is about the incident in Queens. They recap what Bucky read in the article. Bucky shifts, waiting to hear something new. They show drone footage of the rhino crashing into the wall. Bucky winces and looks away. It was taken from above. Steve looked tiny and fragile.

“As of yet, we have no updates on Captain Rogers’ condition.”

“Joe Burns?” someone calls.

“Here,” Bucky stands. An orderly helps him to a bed partitioned off by curtains. After a few more minutes a young doctor pushes back the curtain. Bucky explains how he broke it and makes small talk with the doctor as she splints and wraps the toe. “They said on the news that Captain America was brought here. Is he really here? _The_ Captain America?”

“We’re not allowed to disclose if someone is a patient,” she says.

“Sure, sorry. It’s just that my son, he’s four, he’s a big fan. It would score me major points if I could tell him I was in the same building as Cap.”

“I really can’t say,” she says with a wink.

“Of course. I saw the crowd outside. Must make it tough to treat us regular folks when there a VIP in the house.”

She shakes her head. “It’s been nuts. The looky-loos don’t get that this is a hospital not a Stark Expo meet and greet. Last night, they caught a woman sneaking into the ICU to get a selfie.”

Okay, he’s in the ICU.

“Looked like a nasty accident. Is he going to be alright?” Bucky presses. 

“I don’t know. I hope so. You’ll want to follow up with your doctor in two weeks to be sure it’s healing properly. It will be four to six before it’s completely healed. Try to keep your weight off of it as much as possible for at least a week.”

“That’s not going to be easy. I work in a warehouse. Could you give me a note for HR?”

“Sure.” She walks away. Bucky waits thirty seconds then he limps into the hall. “Thanks!” He waves to the nurses like he’s been released. Once he’s out of their view he passes the exit and goes further in. He turns into a quiet hall and finds a supply closet. He shoves a set of scrubs, some rubber gloves, and a lab coat into the backpack. There’s a wheelchair folded up against the wall. Bucky takes it too. He checks that the hall is still empty then lowers himself into the chair and wheels to the elevators. He checks the floor listings and rides up to the ICU. He wheels himself to a reception desk.

“I’m looking for orthopedics.” He gestures to his elevated leg.

“Wrong floor. You need to go back to three.”

“Thanks. Uh… is there a wheelchair accessible restroom around here?”

“Down the hall, on the left.”

Bucky nods and wheels away. He locks himself in the bathroom, changes into the scrubs and white coat. He exchanges his winter gloves for a blue latex pair. Then he takes the notebook from the backpack, removes the trash bag from the garbage can, places the backpack at the bottom of the can and replaces the bag and lid. He leaves the wheelchair in the hall and follows the signs to the ICU, keeping his gait regular despite the pain. He long ago mastered the skill of looking like he belongs without attracting attention. He walks through the swinging doors to the ICU.

Steve’s room is easy to locate. It’s the one with an Iron Man suit standing vigil at the door. Fuck. The rest of them are probably here too. How does he get around them? Why didn’t he plan for this? Okay, _think_.

He can wait until—

“How’d you hurt your foot?” A familiar, light monotone says from behind him. Bucky whirls to face Romanoff.

“How’s Steve?” His cover is blown, no point in beating around the bush.

“Not good. He’s in a medically induced coma to reduce swelling around his brain.”

Bucky staggers back. “Is there brain damage?”

“We won’t know until they wake him up. It’s possible. If he hadn’t been wearing his helmet he’d be dead. And if he’d had his shield he’d probably be up and walking around.” She looks guilty. “He’s also got a broken collarbone, shattered kneecap, bruised and cracked ribs, ruptured spleen, contusions, lacerations.”

“Is he going to live?”

“He has so far.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” Bucky mutters. “I’ll go.”

“The hell you will. You’re disappearing act put Steve through the wringer. If he makes it, you owe him an explanation.”

“I…” He reaches pocket. She tenses, watching his hand, ready to fight. He pulls out the notebook. “Give him this, please.”

“Give it to him yourself.”

Bucky shakes his head. Moments ago, he’d been so certain he needed to be there. Now he’s sure he can’t.

“Whatever your reason for leaving, it doesn’t matter right now. You are going to do the decent thing and stay here until Steve wakes up. Or…” She doesn’t finish. “He’d want you here so you _will_ stay. If that means I have to handcuff you to a chair, so be it.”

“Okay,” Bucky relents. All fight has gone out of him. He doesn’t have the energy. “I left a backpack in a bathroom. It’s important. I need it.” She walks him back to the bathroom. He tells her where he hid the bag.

She unzips it examines the contents. She nods once she’s satisfied then shoulders it and marches him back down the hall, keeping a firm grip on his left arm. He gives up the pretense of waking smoothly.

“Broke your toe to get into the ER?” she asks. Bucky nods. “Smart. Weren’t planning for a quick exit, were you?”

“Wasn’t planning anything beyond getting here.”

She guides him into a waiting room and pushes him into a chair.

“What the fuck?” Scott Lang jumps out the adjoining chair.

Thor stirs awake in the opposite corner. “Hey, you’re not dead. Good for you,” he says, yawning.

“I’m going to talk to the doctors again. Don’t let him leave.” Romanoff disappears through the door.

Sam sits down next to him. ”You look like shit.” 

Bucky shrugs.

“You left of your own volition?”

Bucky nods.

Sam shakes his head. ”You were limping. Did you hurt yourself so you could get in to see Steve?”

Bucky scratches at his wrist and nods again.

”Didn’t think of calling me and asking to be let in?”

Bucky shakes his head.

”No, of course not. That would require communication. You don't do that anymore.”

Bucky is pretty sure that was a challenge. If he could talk he’d talk to Sam. He slouches lower in his chair. After a few minutes, Sam sighs and walks away.

Hours pass. Romanoff gives them occasional updates, which amount to he's still in a coma. Other Avengers arrive, many doing double takes when they see him. 

“Shit,” Bucky hisses under his breath and stands.

“Hey,” Barton snaps at him. “Nat said you don’t leave.”

Bucky winces and looks at the floor.

“Wait? He’s a hostage?” Thor says. “I don’t support that.”

“Nat said to keep him here,” Barton repeats.

“Because he’s a jittery mess, not because he’s a prisoner,” Scott argues.

“Could we not describe some who is obviously struggling as a ‘mess?’” Wanda corrects.

“As a trauma counselor I concur,” Sam says. “But he is a flight risk.”

“Exactly, I’m not going to be the one who tells Nat that we let him get away.” Barton crosses his arms.

“I just need to take care of something,” Bucky mutters.

“If you need to go to the bathroom one of us will escort you,” Barton says.

“Seriously?” Hope looks up from her phone. “We aren’t letting him use the bathroom?”

“Not alone.”

“I… uh… I might also need help with that,” says a masked Peter Parker, whose arm is in a sling.

“That’s not—there’s a cat,” Bucky says

“A cat?” Barton repeats.

“I haven’t fed it since yesterday.”

“You have a cat?” Sam asks.

“It’s not my cat. It was cold, I let it in. It’s in my RV—” 

“You have an RV?” Scott interrupts.

 Reverting to remorseless assassin mode and murdering them all would be so much simpler.

“It’s parked nearby, just let me feed the cat. I’ll come back.”

“You found a place to park an RV in Manhattan?” asks Rhodes. 

“Can one of us feed it?” Wanda suggests. The idea of any of them seeing how he’s been living makes him uneasy, but he nods.

“Okay is anybody willing to feed the cat?” Barton asks.

“I’ll do it.” Bruce raises a hand. Bucky tells him the location and gives him his keys. He falls back into his chair, worrying at the tender flesh on his wrist.

Twenty minutes later the Hulk stomps into the waiting room.

“Cat mean!” he bellows before throwing an empty can of cat food in Bucky’s direction.

“Sorry,” Bucky whispers. “Thanks.”

Romanoff returns to report that the swelling has begun to go down. If it continues, the doctors will be waking him up. They wait. Bucky does eventually have to use the bathroom. Sam babysits him.

“You’d honestly rather pee under supervision than explain why you left?” he asks.

“I can’t.”

“How long are you planning on staying?”

“I said I’d stay and explain it to Steve if he wakes up.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Bucky is silent.

“You need help.” The way he says it, it’s not an insult, just a fact. They return to the waiting room. A little while later Korg and Loki arrive, each trailing a dozen mylar “get well” balloons behind them. Loki spots Bucky.

“You’re back!” They let go of their fistful of balloons.

“Loki, those are expensive.” Thor gets up to collect the straying balloons and Loki hurls themself into the vacant chair next to Bucky. He was not prepared to face the kid. He scratches at his wrist and bites his lip, attempting a smile.

“Where did you go? Did the bad people get you again? Are you back for good? Were you sick? Did you stop loving Steve? Why’d you cut your hair? Is there—”

“Don’t interrogate him.” Thor picks Loki up and reclaims his seat. Loki, unperturbed, settles on Thor’s knee and continues.

“Okay. I’ll tell you what you missed instead.” They take a deep breath. “I got a chameleon, named him Narfi. I lost a tooth. I don’t believe in the Tooth Fairy, but I still got a dollar. Thor is dating my lawyer. He and Bruce had a big fight about it.”

“A minor disagreement,” Thor interrupts.

“BIG fight. I lost two more teeth and Cassie taught me how to do cartwheels. I got Strep again. Thor says if I get it one more time I can have my tonsils out.”

“It’s not a reward,” Thor says wearily.

“Thor and I are applying for citizenship. A coyote killed two of your chickens and then nobody saw Steve for a week. Thor said it was because he was depressed.”

“Loki.” Thor shakes his head.

“I guess I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. Anyway, I got lost at the zoo for two hours.”

“Twenty-seven minutes,” Thor says.

“Thor thought I was dead.”

“I did not think you were dead.”

“You were _crying_ when you found me.”

“You were missing, I was worried.” A look crosses Thor’s face. “Did you fake your death that time to make me cry?”

Loki’s face scrunches in thought. “That was ooooone of the reasons.”

“We will have to talk about that. But not now.”

“I wouldn’t do that again. I know much better ways to make you cry now.”

“We will definitely be talking about

* * *

- _Steve_ -

 

Steve told Bucky he didn’t want to ride the Cyclone. But Bucky insisted and now Steve doesn’t know which way is up and he’s probably going to vomit and how long is this stupid ride anyway? At least Bucky is holding his hand. Steve squeezes it as the car drops from under him. He’s definitely going to throw up. It would serve Bucky right if—  
Bucky just said something but Steve couldn’t hear him over the roar of the coaster. He squeezes Bucky’s hand again to get him to repeat it.   
“… a few more tests,” she says. Who is that? It’s not Bucky. Not his mother either.  
Steve blinks. Where is he? Where did Bucky go? He’s not on a rollercoaster but he’s not on solid ground. He’s falling, but he might be falling up or sideways. There’s a redheaded blur in his peripheral.  
“Did you get any of that?” Natasha asks.  
“No.” His throat feels like it’s been scraped out with a palette knife.  
“It’s okay. It can wait.”  
Steve’s not sure how long it takes but eventually, his vision clears and the hospital room comes into focus.  
“Hi.” He squeezes Natasha’s hand.  
“Hi.” She squeezes back. "Do you remember what happened?”  
“Rhino. Ouch.”  
She chuckles. “That’s right.”  
“Others?”  
“Peter took a bad hit, broke his wrist, but not serious. Everyone else is the usual levels of banged up.”  
Steve nods, causing pain to radiate out from his spine. He winces.  
“Try not to move. There’s only so much the painkillers can do.”  
Painkillers. He hopes that’s why everything is so muddled.  
“How bad?” he asks.  
She rattles off a long list of injuries. The biggest worry is the head injury. They need to run some tests to rule out anything serious. It sounds like the rest is mostly broken bones, a few of them bad breaks that will take a long time to heal. He’s got stitches in his back from where he got stuck by the horn. And stitches on his cheek from a shard of glass that almost took out his eye. Oh, and he no longer has a spleen. Can’t say he’ll miss it.  
“You beat Clint’s record for most injuries in a single battle. He’s sulking over having to give back the trophy.”  
Her voice is so calm and soothing. It’s wasted on espionage. She should go to medical school.  
“Doctor,” he whispers.  
“Okay, I’ll get them.” She leaves the room.  
That’s not what he meant. He didn’t want her to leave. Only being able to say a word or two at a time is going to get old fast.  
She comes back with a doctor. Steve smiles. He likes being able to see her face. He feels like a newly hatched duckling. He imprinted on the first thing he saw.  
“Still doing okay?” she asks.  
“Quack.” He giggles.  
“Tell me it’s just the medication making him loopy,” she says to the doctor.  
The doctor shines a light in his eyes and asks him questions. Steve answers as best as he can.  
“I’d like to do a few scans. Which means we’re going to have to move you.”  
Turns out MRI machines come straight from Hell. Getting Steve out of bed and into the machine jostles every single one of injuries. He bites down hard on his lip to keep from screaming. The effort wipes him out. Unfortunately for him, once they slide him into the scanner he keeps falling asleep and then jerking awake. Which not only hurts like hell, it ruins the scan and they have to start over. Steve is too disoriented to keep count but he thinks this happens at least 4 times before they load him into his bed and wheel him back to his room.  
Painkillers wear off for him twice as fast as the average patient so they dose him again and he blacks out. The next time he wakes his room is full of flowers and balloons and Natasha is gone. A nurse comes in and cleans his stitches and changes the bandages on his face. She does the same for the surgical incision on his abdomen. But trying to roll him onto his side to check the stitches on his back is too painful. She says it can be done later. She asks if he needs anything.  
“A bundt pan?” she repeats, stumped by his request. Steve thought that was the word. “Bedpan?” She guesses. She helps him out. She asks if he’s up for more visitors and he nods.  
“Hey, Steve.” Sam takes a seat next to his bed. “How are you feeling?”  
Steve grunts.  
“Right, dumb question.”  
“Talk wrong?” He hopes Sam understood the question.  
“Your scan came back. It’s a concussion. A bad one. I’ve got to tell you something.” Sam leans in a little closer. “Bucky showed up a few hours ago.”  
“Bucky?” Bucky’s here?  
“Yeah. I guess he heard about what happened. He hasn’t said much. We kept him here so you could see him if you wanted to.”  
“Yes,” Steve says. “Yes, see him.”  
“Okay, but I’ve got to warn you, it might be upsetting. He’s not in great shape. Physically he seems okay, except he did something to his foot to get in here, but mentally he’s in a bad place.”  
“See him,” Steve repeats.  
“Okay, I’ll get him, but we’d like someone in the room with the two of you. Just in case. Is that okay?”  
“STARK.”  
“Got it.” Sam leaves.  
Steve’s eyelids keep fluttering, but he will not let himself sleep. He can’t miss Bucky. The door opens. STARK walks in followed by….  
Sam was not exaggerating. He looks terrible. But it’s Bucky so he also looks like a movie star, just a movie star who’s had a rough go of it recently. He’s dropped a few pounds. His face is slightly hollow, making his cheekbones sharper than ever. He’s limping. Sam mentioned that he’d done something to his foot. His hair is short and uneven. He’s wearing wrinkled scrubs and a lab coat. He looks lost and tired.  
“Buck?” Steve holds out his hand. Bucky hesitates, looks left and right then closes his eyes before taking it. “Hi.”  
It takes a while but Bucky meets his eye. It’s the same hunted look Steve remembers from Bucharest and it breaks his heart. He has so many questions about why he left and where he’s been but all that matters now is that he’s here.  
“Hi,” Bucky finally says. He sits in the chair next to the bed, wrapping his other hand around Steve’s. He rests his forehead on their hands like he’s praying. It’s pulling on the break in his collarbone and making Steve’s eyes water, but fuck, he’s not going to tell him. A quiet sob escapes Bucky’s throat.  
“Ssh,” he murmurs. “Buck, ssh.” He smoothes back what’s left of Bucky’s hair.  
Bucky sits back, his eyes rimmed and red. He releases Steve’s hand. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I thought you were dying.” His face crumples. “I promised I’d…” He takes a notebook out of his coat pocket and holds it out to Steve, his hand trembling.  
Steve takes it and tries to read the first page but the words blur.  
“Can’t.” Steve shakes his head.  
“Shit.” Bucky deflates. He takes the notebook back and throws it on the bedside table. “Shit,” he groans.  
 Steve holds out his hand again. Bucky takes it, almost on autopilot. Steve rubs his thumb over his wrist. Bucky winces and pulls back. He tugs the sleeve of the coat down.  
“Hurt?” Steve asks.  
Bucky nods. “Yeah, you were hurt real bad. It’s going to take a while but they say you’ll get better.”  
“You hurt,” he tries again.  
“I hurt you,” he says, looking like he’s been struck.  
Steve huffs. That’s not what he meant.  
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He falls back into the chair by the bed.   
“Buck.” Steve tries to get his attention but Bucky is lost inside his head.  
Bucky moans, his metal fingers digging int his flesh wrist.  
“Stop!” Steve shouts. Bucky looks up, startled. STARK moves. Steve holds up a hand to him. The AI waits for instructions. “Wrist,” Steve says and points. “Look.”  
Bucky holds up his arm, staring dumbfounded at the blood dripping toward his elbow.  
“Nurse,“ Steve says.  
“On it.” STARK leaves.  
The AI comes back with a nurse. Bucky stays completely passive while the nurse cleans and bandages his wrist. The nurse leaves and STARK retreats to the corner, being as inconspicuous as half a ton of red and gold armor can be.  
Steve takes a deep breath. “Wrist, why?”  
“It’s a tic,” Bucky says, sounding drained. “It started after I left. Happens every time I think about what I did to you.”   
“Did?” What the hell is he talking about? What did Bucky do other than leaving with no explanation? Is that what he means? “Left?”  
“Yeah, that’s why I left.”  
God this is frustrating. As far as Steve knows leaving is all Bucky did to him.   
“Why?” Steve asks.  
“Why?” Bucky repeats.  
“Left. Why?”  
Bucky flips through the pages of the notebook, looking for something.  
“Buck,” Steve finally has to call his attention back. “Tell me.”  
“I…” he gulps. “I hurt you.”  
“When?”  
“That night at the hotel. I woke up and I didn’t know where I was. Nothing was familiar. I was naked.” He pauses, staring down at the floor. “Someone was next to me and I— I didn’t recognize you. I panicked. I put a pillow over your face and pressed down.”  
“Buck,” Steve coos, “s’okay.”  
“It’s not okay!” Bucky snaps. “I tried to suffocate you.”  
“Stopped.” He must have. Steve woke up the next morning, still breathing.  
“You moved, touched my wrist. It all came back. I remembered. I took away the pillow. You were so still, I thought it was too late. I’d killed you. Then you took a breath and rolled over. You slept through the whole thing. I was so upset I… I almost woke you up so you could comfort me. How fucked up is that?” He shakes his head.  
Steve considers this. It must have lasted a few seconds at the most. Not enough to even wake him. But long enough for Bucky to unravel. He wishes Bucky had woken him up. So they could’ve worked through it together.  
“I had to leave. I’m too dangerous.”  
“No,” Steve says his words slurring from the effort of speaking. “Y’were confuse.”  
“I almost killed you.”  
Steve gestures to his battered body. He almost died without Bucky’s help.  
Bucky closes his eyes. “That doesn’t change what happened.”  
“No.” Steve shakes his head causing a stabbing pain in his neck.   
Bucky is getting frustrated. “It was attempted murder!”  
“Wi’a pillow!” Steve yells.  
“I know!” Bucky yells back.  
STARK looks between clearly unsure if he should intervene.  
“Pillow. Not arm.” He could’ve snapped his neck with his Vibranium hand in a fraction of a second. “Not murder. Jus’ scared.”  
Bucky sighs. “Steve, I know what your thinking. It doesn’t matter what weapon I used. If it’s that easy to lose myself then I’m not safe around anyone, let alone the person I love the most in the world. I’m sorry for leaving without telling you. I was ashamed. But I left because I love you. Which is why I have to leave again.”  
It doesn’t make sense. Okay, it makes perfect sense that Bucky would run if he thought he was dangerous, but his memory lapsing because he woke up somewhere unfamiliar? Sometimes he slept in his room and sometimes in Steve’s. That never caused a problem. They spent weeks in Wakanda. They slept in his hut and outside. They spent a night in the palace. He was fine. They’d even spent the previous night on Thor’s pullout couch. What about that night at the hotel had…?  
“Meds,” Steve says.  
“What?” Bucky stares at him.  
“Took meds?”  
“Yeah, I’ve been taking my meds.”  
“Trial day? Took meds?” Steve presses.  
“Of course I did.” Bucky’s brow wrinkles. “Didn’t I?”  
“No!”  
They’d been in a rush. They went home, changed into their courtroom suits and ran for the cars. They hadn’t stopped for anything, including Bucky’s meds. They went straight from the court to the hotel. Which means by the time Bucky woke in the hotel room it had been nearly 42 hours since his last dose of his memory medication. What happened was exactly what Bucky said would happen if he missed too many doses. He forgot a few small but important details. Like where he’d gone to sleep the night before. Which triggered a split-second panic response. He didn’t have a terrible relapse, just a glitch with his meds.  
“I didn’t take them,” Bucky says, his eyes wide.  
“HAH!” Steve raises his hands in triumph. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” That hurt.  
“Stevie, Jesus!” Bucky rushes to his side. “Be careful, idiot.”  
Steve laughs. “You’ da idiot.” He should’ve just woken him up that night. They’d have figured it out right away. Saved them both months of misery. “Luv’ya.” He squeezes his hand. “Stay.”  
“I can’t,” Bucky whispers. Goddammit!   
“Why?” Steve entreats. They figured it out. It was just a stupid mistake with his meds. They will be more careful, more diligent. It will be fine.  
“I won’t risk hurting you again.”  
Steve blows a raspberry. Bucky rolls his eyes.  
“Hurt.” Steve pulls the bandage off his cheek, displaying the stitches.  
Bucky’s nostrils flare. He’s pissed. Good. It’s an improvement.  
“It’s not the same.”  
“Don’t care.”  
“I care! If I hurt you, kill you, it’s me doing it! There’s no one making me do it. It’s just me!”  
Steve is exhausted, his chest feels like it’s going to burst. Sweat pours down his face. His whole body is screaming at him. It doesn’t matter. He’ll fight for Bucky, even if it means fighting with Bucky. Tears leak from his eyes. He can do this all day.  
“Enda line,” he rasps, forcing out the words. “Can’t get rid a’me. With you, enda line.” It feels like there’s a thousand-pound weight on his chest.  
Bucky opens his mouth to argue. He shuts it and turns around. He limps toward the door, He pauses with his hand on the knob. He turns to face Steve. He opens his mouth again. Closes it again. “Aaaaagh,” he growls, forehead vein popping. “Dammit!” He glares at Steve, shoulders heaving. Then he gulps, his lips curving into a tiny smile. His posture relaxes like he’s let go of something. “I’ll stay. End of the line. I’ll stay.”  
Steve exhales.   
“Wow.” STARK whistles “That was stressful!”

 


	12. Chapter 12

- _Steve_ -

Steve stares out the window, watching the sun rise over the RV. It’s too early to text Bucky. Steve is only awake because he has yet to find a position that he can sleep in for more than an hour or two before waking in excruciating pain. He was released from the hospital after three weeks but he still spends most of the day in a hospital bed. It just happens to be in his living room instead of the ICU. He can’t support himself on his broken knee and he can’t use the wheelchair on his own until his collarbone has healed. He’s helpless. How did that word ever come to mean what it means? He doesn’t need less help, he needs all of the help.

It’s temporary, he reminds himself. He’s incrementally better every day. The broken ribs have healed. All that’s left of the stitches on his cheek is a crescent-shaped scar under his eye. He was lucky, he really was. He shouldn’t complain. Maybe he’d be coping better if he wasn’t so bored. His old standbys for keeping occupied while confined to a bed have failed him. He’s too sore to sketch or knit. He can’t even read a book because of the concussion. He mainly listens to the radio or audiobooks. He looks at the clock. Four AM. At least another hour before Bucky gets up. He spends the nights in the RV because he doesn’t trust himself to sleep under the same roof as Steve yet.

“Good morning, Buck.” Steve texts at five. It won’t wake him, his ringer isn’t on. Steve could’ve texted at any time but he doesn’t want Bucky to know how little sleep he’s getting. Not when nothing can be done about it. They gave him sleeping pills at the hospital, which worked for at first when his body was still in shock and he was beyond exhausted. But they stopped working at least a week before he was released.

“Morning,” Bucky replies at 5:30. Steve exhales. He’s still here. He promised to discuss it if he felt the need to leave again, but Steve holds his breath every day until he gets an answer. _Pitiful_.

“I love you. Take your medication,” he texts. Steve reminds him every morning. Bucky also set multiple alerts on his phone and taped reminders over his bed. They aren’t taking any chances.

“Done. Love you.”

Ten minutes later Steve sees the door to the RV opens. Bucky pauses, staring at the five inches of snow that fell overnight. Steve spent a few sleepless hours watching it accumulate. He nods toward the house and pulls up his scarf. Steve watches him feed the chickens while that demonic cat follows at his heels. Bucky swears he has no intention of keeping it, but Steve would put good money on the cat still being around in six months. Bucky heads toward the house. The cat disappears, probably off to terrorize Wanda’s poor little dachshund again.

“Good morning,” Bucky calls from the front hall. He comes into view and pulls off his hat.

“Your hair,” Steve gasps. “What happened?”

Bucky runs his hand over his scalp. He’s nearly bald, just an inch of dark fuzz left.

“I took the clippers to it,” he says, looking sheepish. “Was trying to even it out, but my hand kept slipping and it got shorter and shorter.”

“You going to grow it out again?”

Bucky shrugs.

For most of their lives, Bucky had short hair. He even went through a phase of slicking it down like Bela Lugosi. So it came as a surprise to Steve how much he misses the long hair. The world feels slightly off-kilter without him pushing it out of his eyes every few minutes.

Bucky perches on the edge of the bed.

“Sleep well?”

“Uh-huh,” Steve lies.

“What can I kiss that won’t hurt?”

“Eyebrow.”

Bucky leans down and kisses it.

“Lips.”

Bucky kisses them. Then his side. And his good knee. His ears. They don’t stop until they find a spot that was too painful to kiss the day before.

As frustrating and uncomfortable as his current situation is, Bucky is home. A month ago, Steve thought he’d never see him again. He was in perfect health and he’d never been more miserable. This isn’t so bad.

“Ready?”

Steve nods. Bucky lifts him out of bed and helps him into the wheelchair. Then gets him into the bathroom and patiently waits while Steve struggles onto the toilet. He should let Bucky help but he’s going to hold onto any crumb of dignity that he can. Steve does allow Bucky to give him a hand with brushing his teeth.

“I want a shower.” Steve caught a whiff of himself last night and it was not pleasant.

“You sure? It’s a little ambitious.”

“I’m sure.”

“Alright.”

Showering in his condition requires nearly as much preparation and coordination as a mission behind enemy lines. Just undressing and snapping the plastic cover over his knee-cast takes half an hour. The shower itself isn’t too bad. Once Steve is secure on the shower-chair, Bucky undresses and gets in with him. He scrubs the places Steve can’t reach and examines the stitches on his back.

“They look ready to come out,” he says, cleaning them gently.

Steve waits while Bucky gives himself a quick wash. While the sight of him sends a little jolt of electricity through Steve’s core, he would be hard-pressed to come up with a less sexy set of circumstances for them to be naked together for the time in months. Getting out of the shower is worse than getting in. Steve ends up shaking on Bucky’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.

“You were right. It was too much.” Steve admits while Bucky wheels him back into the living room.

“So what if I was?” Bucky shrugs. “You wanted to try so we tried. It’s your call. But you know you don’t have to prove anything to me, right? You’re the toughest son of a bitch I know and you have been since you were in short pants. You just need time to heal.“

“I know. I know.” Steve shakes his head.

“It’s only been a few weeks. You’ll be better when you’re better. What do you want for breakfast?’

“Bacon and uhm…” _Shit_ , he can see it in his head. What is the word? “You know, uh… they break easily? It’s how you get baby birds?”

“Scrambled or boiled?”

“Fried. And a banana, please.”

Bucky makes breakfast. Steve still can’t remember what the round white thing with the yolk in the middle is called, but it tastes good. Just eating is enough to tire him out again. It’s infuriating. And humiliating. Bucky helps him back into the cursed bed.

“I’m going to go for a run then to the store. You’ll be okay on your own for a bit?”

“I can STARK if I need anything.”

Bucky leaves. Steve turns an audiobook on and stares out the window.

“Eggs!” he shouts to the empty house. He hears the front door being unlocked. “That was fast.”

“Got here as soon as I could.” Bruce rounds the corner from the foyer, carrying a black leather medical bag.

“Hi?” They’ve had visitors every day since he got home, but they usually call ahead to say they’re coming over. And where did he get a key?

“Alright, let me have a look.” Bruce waits expectantly.

“What?”

“Do you need help rolling over?”

“What?” Steve repeats.

“You texted that you wanted me to look at the stitches on your back.”

“I did?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No.” Steve picks up his phone. His text app is open. He texted Bruce fifteen minutes ago. He even told him the location of the spare key. “I guess I did.”

“Hm?” Bruce frowns. “Has this happened a lot?”

“I don’t think so? I lose words sometimes, but… Should I be worried?”

“Only a month since the accident? Probably not. You have a traumatic brain injury. Brains don’t just bounce back. Have you seen your neurologist recently?”

“I’ve got an appointment tomorrow.”

“Make sure you mention— On second thought, I’ll write a note to give to the doctor.”

“Thanks.” He’ll try not to obsess over that.

“Okay, let’s look at those stitches.”

With Bruce’s help, Steve manages to swing his legs over the side of the bed, facing away from Bruce. He lifts his shirt. Bruce removes the bandage and examines the wound.

“Looks good.”

“I no longer have a hole in my back?”

“Nope, just a big lumpy scar.”

“Great.” Steve chuckles.

“Want me to take out the stitches?”

“That would be great.”

Bruce preps a pair of scissors and tweezers and sanitizes the wound.

“Where’s Bucky?” he asks as he cuts the first stitch.

“Went to the store.”

“How are things going now that he’s back?”

“Great. He’s been a huge help. Don’t know what I’d do without him.” Other than the fact that apparently now both of them have memory issues. “He’s talking about ducks.”

“Ducks?”

“Since we already have chickens, he says it would be easy to add in a few ducks.”

“Oh man,” Bruce laughs, “The other day, Ton—STARK called you two Big Edie and Little Edie and it’s so true.” He laughs harder.

“Maybe it’s the concussion speaking, but I did not understand a word of what you just said.”

“You know, _Grey Gardens?_ The movie?”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s a documentary. A classic. You should watch it.”

“I’ll add it to the list.”

“So everything really is good? Even though he left?”

“He left because he felt he had to. He wasn’t trying to hurt me,” Steve says, suspecting that they’re not only talking about Bucky.

“Uh-hm,” Bruce mutters. “I— I’m happy for you. Not a lot of relationships could’ve survived that kind of separation,” he says in a low voice. “He’s um… At the hospital, he seemed terrified. I know a little something about being so frightened that you run from everything that matters. But the thing that scares you most is the only thing you can’t ever get away from. He’s lucky to have you.”

“Bruce, are you okay?”

“Yes. No. All of the above?” He laughs. “Interpersonal relationships are not my area of expertise.” Thor walks past the window, dragging Loki behind him on a sled. They pause and wave. “Case in point.”

“You made up, though.” Steve was in the field when Bruce and Thor had their falling-out, but he heard about it. From everyone. “If you don’t mind my asking, why were you so upset?”

“Ugh, I.. Not my proudest moment. On the surface it’s great. They seem happy. They make a good couple, Thor is one of my closest friends and Jennifer is family. Good for them, right?”

“Right. And?”

“And if it doesn’t work out… I’ve got to choose between them. And they didn’t tell me. I found out from Loki. Like they expected me to flip out. Which hurt. So, of course, I did the mature thing and flipped out.”

“Oh.” Steve hasn’t told Bucky about what happened between him and Natasha yet. It would upset him. Worse, it would upset the delicate balance they’ve struck. Bucky needs stability and support while he learns to trust himself again not— the truth is he’s scared. Scared that Bucky will leave again. He’s being selfish. He needs Bucky. Needs his help while he recovers, yes, but just plain needs him. None of that negates the fact that Bucky needs to know. How much worse will he feel if he finds out that Steve was keeping it from him?

“Okay, you’re good.” Bruce helps him to lie back down.

They chat a little longer. Bruce tells him more about the documentary. Bucky comes back and he and Bruce go over the note for the neurologist. Bruce leaves, Bucky unloads the groceries and makes lunch. Steve pokes at his plate.

“Not hungry?” Bucky stares at him from the couch.

Steve shrugs.

“Stevie, how long are you going to keep lying to me?” Bucky sets down his fork.

“What?” Steve’s stomach leaps into his throat.

“You may as well confess. It’s written all over your face.”

“I—” Steve starts.

“You’re not sleeping at all, are you?” Bucky interrupts.

“No.” Steve shouldn’t be as relieved as he is. He’s got to tell him.

“If the bags under your eyes get any bigger we’re going to have to hire a contractor to build them their own room. From now on forget about keeping to a schedule. Sleep whenever you’re tired. Even if it’s only two or three hours at a time. You get in enough of those you’ll start feeling human again. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Want to try now? You look ready to drop.”

Steve nods. Bucky clears their plates, then fluffs up Steve’s pillows, reclines the bed and tucks the blankets to his chin. He kisses him sweetly, turns out the lights, and leaves the room. Steve’s eyes fill with tears. He doesn’t want to lose this. But until he tells him, it’s a fraud. Bucky wasn’t wrong, he’s exhausted. He can’t keep his eyes open.

An ache in his neck wakes him a few hours later. Bucky is crouching at the foot of the bed,

“Buck?”

“I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. The name is St. Nick.” Bucky switches on a lamp. A red and white Santa hat is perched on his head. He points to a striped stocking now tied to the bed frame.

“It’s not Christmas.” Steve was in the hospital for Christmas. The nurses decorated his room and volunteer carolers showed up. The team brought gifts. But it hadn’t felt like Christmas.

“I know, but it seemed like you could use a little holiday cheer. I picked up some stuff at the store. Here.” He unties the stocking and hands it to him. Steve turns it over and several bundles of red and green tissue paper fall out.“It’s not much, most of it’s from the discount bins. But I got a ham and eggnog and I’m going to make mashed potatoes.”

Steve unwraps an orange and a handful of peppermint sticks. A noisemaker and a bauble ornament. There’s one more package, a tiny silver picture frame.

“Reminded me of the one your ma kept on her bureau. With your father’s photo in it. I thought we could put one of us in it and… babydoll, what’s wrong?”

Steve wipes at his face, but the tears roll down his cheeks.

“Are you in pain? Need an ice-pack? A pill?”

“You’re so sweet.” He sniffs. “And I’m a lousy piece of shit.”

“What? That’s crazy talk.” He leans down and kisses Steve on the forehead. “You’re the best person in the whole world.”

“I…I had sex with Natasha.”

“Today?” Bucky steps back in surprise.

“No! Oh my god no! While you were gone. The night before the accident.”

“Oh.” Bucky falls onto the couch, laughing. “You had me worried for a minute there.”

“Bucky, I cheated on you.” How can he be this calm?

“That’s debatable. But I already know about that, okay? It’s fine.”

“You know? How?” Did Nat tell him? Or STARK?

“Steve, you told me yourself.”

“I told you?”

“At the hospital. The night after I came back. You burst into tears, confessed to the whole thing, and promptly passed out.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. Then forty minutes later you confessed all over again like the first time never happened. And again the next morning.”

“Oh. You’re not upset?”

“I was the first two times you told me. By the third, I was running for the doctor. He said it was a side effect of the concussion.”

“You knew this whole time?”

“Since you hadn’t confessed for a week now, I figured you finally remembered telling me.” He shakes his head.

“And you’re okay with it?”

“Hearing about it didn’t fill me with joy. I don’t like having to picture it, which I do every time you bring it up, but you didn’t cheat. I left. I wasn’t planning on coming back. I wanted you to move on with your life and you did.”

“I didn’t. It wasn’t like that. I hadn’t moved on. I was sad and she was nice. It was nice. We—”

“Steve, I don’t want the details.”

“Okay.”

Bucky stares at his lap for a few seconds. He looks up again. “Do you love her?”

“I love you.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“I love her, but not like that. She’s my friend. You are my heart. I only want to be with you.”

“Right. Good.” He nods a few times. “I’m starving. I’m going to start on the ham.”

He gets up and heads into the kitchen. “Hey, Stevie?” He shouts through the door. “I’m in the mood for a movie. Pick something out.”

“Okay.” Steve turns on the TV and starts searching their options. “Bucky?”

“Yeah?’

“I love you with all my heart.” That’s one thing he’ll never forget.

“I know that, you big sap,” he yells. “I love you too.” A few seconds later he calls again. “Didn’t you just say that I am your heart?”

“I did. You are.”

“So you love me with all of your me?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Stick to drawing, Stevie. You’d never make it as a poet.”

* * *

 

 

- _Bucky_ -

The ham turns out pretty good if Bucky does say so himself. He lights a fire in the fireplace. They eat dinner while watching a movie about a man who believes he’s an elf. Bucky hasn’t laughed that hard in years. Bucky clears their plates and returns to the living room.

“Come here.” Steve pats the bed next to him.

“No room.”

“I’ll make room.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You’re too fragile.”

“Buck, it’s Christmas and I want a cuddle from my sweetheart.” He holds out his arms, his lower lip curling in an exaggerated pout.

“Fine,” Bucky rolls his eyes. Steve scoots over, wincing in pain. “See!”

“Shut up and give me a cuddle, you ass,” Steve says through gritted teeth.

“For god’s sake.” Bucky climbs into the bed, gingerly wrapping his arms around Steve. “Happy now?”

“Yes,” Steve kisses his cheek. Bucky melts into him. During his months away, Bucky felt himself slowly starving for affection. For touch. With Steve in the shape he’s in there hasn’t been much opportunity. He wants to every morsel. Maybe that’s what Steve was feeling right before his dalliance with Romanoff.

“Merry Christmas, jerk.” Steve rubs his shoulder.

“It’s not Christmas.”

“Close enough.”

“If it was I’d be very disappointed that you didn’t get me anything.”

“How can I make it up to you?“ Steve asks, kissing him again.

“Rabbits.”

“Rabbits?’

“Once the ducks are settled—”

“I didn’t know the ducks were a forgone conclusion,” Steve interrupts.

“That’s not up for debate. The will be ducks. Anyway, rabbits would—”

“You already have a lot of animals.”

“It’s only a few birds so far.”

“And a cat.”

“That’s not even my cat. It’s just too mean to inflict on anyone else.” Now that he’s being fed regularly, Mean Cat isn’t quite as mean as he was but it’s still not an ironic name. Bucky gave him a flea-bath last week, it took four hours, three packets of salmon, and several hundred bandaids. “Besides I’m down two chickens since you let that coyote—”

“I didn’t let the—”

“A few rabbits wouldn’t be that much more work.”

“And once we have rabbits, then what? Ferrets? Shetland ponies?”

“Now that you mention it, a pony wouldn’t require much additional space,” Bucky muses. “A Wakandan Battle rhino on the other hand—”

“Alright, I’ll consider rabbits.”

“You still comfortable like this?” Bucky asks, his head resting on Steve’s chest.

“Uh-huh.” Steve strokes his scalp.

“How about another movie?”

“Does it have to be a Christmas movie?” Steve asks.

“Got something in mind?”

“Bruce mentioned a documentary earlier.”

“Okay.”

Steve queues up the movie. It’s about an eccentric mother and daughter, both named Edith, who live together in a derelict mansion. The house is covered in trash and they have no running water or electricity. The property is overrun with cats and raccoons. The women ramble about their lives. They had money once but they seem to have been living in squalor for decades.

 _“It’s very difficult to keep the line between the past and the present. You know what I mean? Awfully difficult,”_ the daughter, Little Edie, says in a sharp Society drawl.

“This is sad,” Bucky says.

“It is,” Steve agrees. “Bruce made it sound funny.”

The mother, Big Edie, starts warbling “Tea for Two.” She’s frail and probably not all there. Something about her voice makes Bucky want to cry, but then the scene changes to Little Edie in pantyhose and heels, dancing around the front hall with an American flag. He doubles over laughing. It’s so unexpected and strange. She’s not a good dancer but she’s having so much fun it’s infectious.

“What is happening?” Steve dabs at his eyes.

“The hell if I know,” Bucky laughs.

Her mother calls to her from upstairs and she deflates.

They watch the rest of the rest of the movie, hypnotized by the Edies and their bizarre, insular little world.

“That was an experience,” is all Bucky can say when it’s over.

“Bruce said they remind him of us.” Steve yawns, almost asleep.

“Us?” Bucky repeats.

“Uh-huh.” Steve’s eyes close. He starts to snore. Bucky lies still for a half-hour to be sure Steve isn’t going to wake up. He extracts himself from the bed and sits on the floor, the movie still playing behind his eyes. It feels like he’s swallowed a pin and it’s cutting him up from the inside. He puts his coat back on and tromps toward the RV. His head spins. He stumbles in the snow. He turns around.

“Wilson?” He pounds on Sam’s door. It opens a crack. Sam peeks through the chain.

“Did something happen to Steve?”

Bucky shakes his head.

“You here to kill me?”

He shakes his head again.

“The cat with you?”

Another shake.

Sam unlatches the chain and lets him in. Bucky sinks onto Sam’s couch, resting his head in his hands.

“Call it a hunch, but you seem troubled.” He sets a glass of water down in front of Bucky. Bucky takes a gulp, barely getting it down around the lump in his throat.

“I assume you didn’t come to admire my impeccable decor.”

Bucky nods.

“So?” Sam nudges his foot.

“Steve slept with Romanoff.”

“Natasha, right? Not the tsar?”

“Natasha.”

“Huh,” Sam muses, “he has a type, doesn’t he? Alright, I think I know Steve well enough to know that this didn’t happen before you disappeared.”

“Right.”

“And he’s in no shape for it to have happened since you came back.”

“No.”

“So it happened while you were MIA. That means you aren’t freaking out because of infidelity. At least I don’t think so. Because, dude, you were in the wind. And he was all kinds of broken up over it. If you’re going to call that cheating—”

“No, I’m not thrilled that it happened but it wasn’t a betrayal of us. I know that.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“We watched this movie tonight about these strange, sad, women called the Edies and I realized that he _should_ be with her.”

“Explain.”

“I’m damaged goods.”

“Everyone is damaged goods, Barnes.”

“There’s damaged and then there’s me. If Steve stays with me I going to drag him down. I’ll ruin him. Won’t mean to but it can’t be helped. Just like the Edies. We’ll end up a couple of recluses, isolated from the rest of the world. Living on fumes and memories.”

“That’s a bleak picture.”

“Unless he gets out while he still can. He should be with someone less complicated.” Bucky rubs at his wrist, only just resisting the urge to tear into the flesh.

“Look, if you think Natasha is uncomplicated and has no baggage, you’re been living someplace other than Earth.”

“Fine, not her. Someone else then. Someone good for him. You maybe”

“Did you just bequeath your boyfriend to me?”

“Maybe,” Bucky mutters.

“Alright, I don’t swing that way but if I did I could do a hell of a lot worse than Steve. Sure, I’ll take him off your hands.”

Bucky’s lip trembles. “I just want him to be happy.”

“Sure, I’ve seen firsthand how happy he is without you. He was tap dancing the whole time you were gone. Nope, wait it was the exact opposite of that. Anyway, I don’t buy it. You don’t think Steve should leave you, you’re afraid that he’s going to.”

Bucky sobs into his hands. Sam drops onto the couch next to him. He pats a steady rhythm into Bucky’s back.

“Being right would be more satisfying for me if you weren’t so miserable.”

“Being with me…it’s hard work. I’m exhausting. Anyone else would’ve left already.”

“So you’re going to beat him to the punch?”

“I’m a train-wreck, Sam.”

“Not getting any argument here.”

“I’m serious. I have issues.”

“Bought the ticket, saw the show, stayed for the encore.”

“You haven’t even scratched the surface. I have screaming nightmares and panic attacks. I’m dependent on a shit-ton of medications. My kidneys are time-bombs. I hoard animals. I make everything so fucking difficult. I thought breaking my own foot was a completely reasonable thing to do.” Bucky rubs at his temple.

“That’s enough, okay?” Sam objects. “That’s my friend your talking shit about.”

“Look at this!” He pushes the sleeve of his shirt up to reveal the raw red flesh on his wrist. “I did this to myself and didn’t even notice. And I’m still doing it!”

“Man, you’ve got to calm down. Please.” Sam puts a hand on his shoulder. “Take a breath. Take two. All of that will still be true without you asphyxiating on my good rug.” Bucky breathes. Sam gives him a box of tissue. “Steve broke up the Avengers for you. He’s not going to leave you. ”

“He could. He’s got options.”

“And you don’t?”

“No.“

“C’mon, with those eyes and that jawline? I may be straight but I’m not blind. You’re a beautiful man, my friend. You’ve got just as many options as he does.”

“I don’t want options. He’s it for me.” The thought of being with anyone else turns his stomach.

“Let me see if I’m understanding this. You’re so convinced Steve will leave that you’ve decided he should for his own good?”

“He’ll use up of his all of his spark in taking care of me.”

“You’re the one taking care of him.”

“For now. He’ll get better. “

“You don’t have to be the Eddies.”

“Edies.”

“Whatever. You remember what I said at the hospital?”

“That I need help?”

“Exactly. There’s no shame in needing help. You don’t want Steve to have to take care of you? Get help.”

“There’s no point. I’ll always be a broken toaster.”

“Uh-huh. You know that’s bullshit, right? I’ve seen you get better. Not that long ago, you didn’t know your own name. In the first six months that I knew you, you only said a handful of words and two were ‘Steve’ and ‘Stevie.’ Now you’re coming up with metaphors about appliances. Yeah, you’re damaged, look at everything you’ve been through, but you’re also goddamn resilient.”

“I got help. The most brilliant mind in the world, maybe in history, tried to help and look at me. Maybe this is as good as I get.”

“If you’re talking about Shuri, she did help you. A lot. But she’s also your friend. You care too much about what she thinks of you. You don’t want to disappoint her. I know someone who specializes in trauma. Let me make an appointment for you.”

Bucky pulls a few more tissues from the box. “Do it,” he whispers.

“Well done. Good choice. I’ll text you tomorrow with a time. Now, I don’t want to rush you out of here, and if you really need to stay you can, but I’ve got a lady-friend coming over in…” he looks at his watch, “fourteen minutes.”

“Oh shit, sorry. I’ll go. Thank you, Sam. You’re a good guy, you know that?”

“Oh, I know. I didn’t even you give you shit about this ugly ass buzzcut.”

Bucky scratches his head. “Isn’t it exactly like yours?”

“Okay, get the fuck out of my house.” Sam holds open the door.

Bucky pulls his coat back on and heads back to the RV. He passes by the living room windows. Steve is still asleep in the hospital bed. He walks up to the window. God, he’s so in love with Steve. It’s fucking terrifying. And the best thing he’s ever done. He could stand in the snow all night and not get tired of looking at him. But that would make him a creep. He draws a heart in the frost on the window. There, he’s not a creep just a sap. He immediately feels stupid and wipes it away with his sleeve.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He draws a larger heart and writes their initials inside. Then stomps back to the RV before he can erase it. Mean Cat trills at him from the corner.

“What am I going to do with you?”

The cat saunters to him and sits at his feet.

“Clearly, I’m never going to follow through on taking you to a shelter.”

Mean Cat yawns and stretches, displaying his claws.

“I know trust is not easy for you and I promise no matter what, you’ll always be safe and fed. But do you have to be such an asshole? Think you could stop destroying things just because you’re bored?”

The cat cocks his head at Bucky.

“And if you want to sleep in my bed, you can’t bite my nose while I’m asleep anymore. I’ll try to make things more pleasant for you. Get you a scratching post and some toys.”

Mean cat meows insistently.

“Okay, more salmon too.” Bucky climbs under the covers and turns out the light. After a few minutes, the cat burrows into the sheets near his knees.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: the beginning of this chapter may hit close to home for trauma survivors. No new trauma occurs, but Bucky is unpacking some things in therapy.

- _Bucky_ -

 

Bucky pokes a finger in the neon green sand, grinning at the perfect hole it makes. Sam’s therapist friend does treat adults, but her specialty is traumatized children. Bucky was skeptical when he stepped into the office and saw a table laid out with colorful slime and dense sand that holds its shape. Anita, his new therapist, explained that it helps some of her patients to open up if they have something other than her to focus on. He pushes the flat end of a wooden spoon into a column of sand, making it collapse. It’s oddly satisfying.

“Why do you think it bothers you so much?” Anita asks. She is a petite woman with very short dark hair and large eyes magnified by a pair of owlish spectacles. Bucky can’t judge her age. She struck him as very young at first but now he’s not so sure.

He had been telling her how he found out that Steve had feelings for him. And how long it took for him to realize that he was in love with Steve.

“I don’t know. I thought I knew him so well, but somehow I missed that. Did I really know him? Did I even know myself?”

“You think you didn’t?” she asks.

“Not my whole self, no. Now it’s so clear. So completely true. How could I not always know? Imagine living next to the ocean for your whole life and never noticing it. You wonder why the air is so salty and where all the seagulls are coming from. Then one day you turn around and there it is. The ocean. It would be a shock, right? Not just because suddenly there’s the ocean, but because you know it was always there, you were just facing the wrong direction. Wouldn’t you feel like an idiot?”

“Probably.” She smiles. “But it’s better than never noticing the ocean at all. Don’t you think?”

“Sure. Right. But… all that time I could’ve been swimming.”

“So you feel you lost something because you didn’t know how he felt?”

“Time.” Bucky nods. “Time we could’ve been happy together before…”

“Before what?”

“Before I lost it all. Lost myself. I spent decades as someone—some _thing_ else. I was the Winter Soldier much longer than I was Bucky Barnes. I feel cheated. I could’ve had something that makes me so happy that much sooner if I’d only turned around and seen the ocean.” Bucky crushes a fistful of sand, the grains sifting between his metal fingers.

“I’d like to go back. You said you didn’t know your whole self. And you wish you knew before you lost yourself. Do you think understanding your feelings for Steve would’ve made it harder for your captors to take your identity from you?”

Bucky inhales. He had never put that into words, never connected the two ideas in his head. “I… maybe?” He molds the sand into a rectangle then cuts it into slices with a pizza cutter.

“It’s not uncommon for trauma survivors to latch onto the idea that if they’d only done something differently, or made a different choice, they could’ve prevented what happened to them. It’s not a healthy way of thinking but it’s a difficult one to let go of.”

Bucky shudders. Anita continues. “Princess Shuri sent me your case files. Everything your captors did to you was designed to destroy your sense of self. To systematically strip you of your autonomy. It is my opinion that no one could have survived that treatment with their identity intact. There is nothing you could’ve done to change what happened.”

A broken whimper escapes from his throat.

“Do you believe that, Bucky?”

“I… don’t think I want to.” He bites his lip.

“Tell me why.”

“If it happened because I made the wrong choice that means some part…” he gasps for air. “Some part of it was in my hands. I was still in control of something.”

She nods. “I see why you’d want to believe that. But it’s not a helpful belief. Believing that is believing that you were complicit in your abuse. You weren’t.”

Bucky stares at the sand.

“And that can be appealing because believing that gives you someone to punish. Someone who is always there and you know exactly how to hurt. Yourself. It’s time to let that go.”

“I don’t know if I can.” His voice is hoarse.

“It’s that hard to let yourself off the hook?”

Bucky shrugs, nods, shrugs again.

“You told me Steve blames himself for what happened. Because he didn’t look for you after you fell,” Anita says, flipping back through her notes.

“He thought I was dead.”

“So you don’t blame him?”

“Of course not.”

“Because you know it wasn’t within his power to prevent. I think you owe yourself the same compassion that you show your boyfriend.”

Bucky doesn’t have it in him to respond.

“Alright. I want you to sit with that for as long as you need. I’ll see you again in a week. If you want to pick up there we can. If not we’ll come back to it when you’re ready.”

He blows his nose and washes his hands and face in the bathroom before leaving. He feels wrung out but also like something inside of him has been knocked loose.

On the way home, Bucky stops at a big box store to pick up chicken feed. Since he’s there he may as well do a little restocking. Two super soldier metabolisms in one household does inflate the grocery bill. He grabs a bunch of bananas. He recently discovered that Mean Cat’s ardor for salmon is exceeded only by a passion for bananas. Mean Cat is warming up to Bucky, sleeping in his bed and following him around the grounds, but he rarely tolerates petting for more than a second or two. Until a banana is introduced to the mix. Bucky only has to peel a banana for Mean Cat to appear in his lap, purring and rubbing his head all over him. The other day, Mean Cat stayed in his lap for nearly forty minutes, giving him the feline equivalent of heart-eyes as Bucky doled out slices of banana. But all good things must come to an end. The cat could only resist his nature for so long before sinking his teeth into Bucky’s thigh. Shoving the rest of the banana into his mouth, Bucky unceremoniously dumped Mean Cat on the floor. Still, progress is progress.

Bucky pushes his cart into the next aisle and stops short. His eyes are assaulted by a sea of red and pink hearts. He looks at his phone. It’s February fourteenth.

Back in their salad days, Steve took a cynical view on Valentine's Day. He said it only existed to line the pockets of florists and jewelers. He even took advantage of it by selling hand-drawn Valentines to guys in the neighborhood. He charged 2 cents each until the actual day when he raised the price to 5. Bucky, on the other hand, had a soft spot for the holiday. An entire day dedicated to celebrating romance. One of young James Buchanan Barnes’s favorite things. He prided himself on showing his sweetheart of the moment a good time, really making her feel special. Like a queen for a day.

Bucky adds a big heart-shaped box of chocolates to his cart. Steve will probably roll his eyes, but Bucky won’t let their first Valentine’s Day together pass unnoticed. He chooses two more boxes of chocolate and a card with a bit of Shakespeare inside. He circles back to the grocery section and picks up two filet mignon and a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries. Neither of them can even get tipsy but he can’t resist plucking a bottle of Champagne from an endcap display. He could never afford Champagne before. He also, it seems, can’t resist an enormous stuffed Panda with a big red bow around its neck. Or a pair of silky burgundy boxer shorts covered in rainbow hearts. He wonders briefly if he’s caught in another emotion storm, but he doesn’t think consumerism counts as an emotion. Regardless, he’s going to change Steve’s mind about Valentine’s Day, if he has to drown him in chocolate and doilies to do it.

Forty minutes later, Bucky drops half a dozen bags at the front door while fending off Mean Cat’s attempts to run off with the bananas.

“I’m back,” he calls.

“How was therapy?” Steve answers from the living room.

“Good. Really good.” Bucky scoops up a dozen red roses, one of three he bought, and hides it behind his back. “Hey guess what? It’s Valentine’s Da...” The entire living room is covered in fairy lights and garlands of crepe paper hearts. Steve sits in the middle in his wheelchair, wearing the same expression he did when he was fifteen and scored the top grade in school. “You did all this?”

“STARK helped put them up.” He still can’t stand up but now that his collarbone is healed he can get around a lot better. That, plus getting a decent amount of sleep, has improved his mood exponentially.

“I thought you hated Valentine’s Day.”

Steve shakes his head, grinning. “ I did. Because the only person I wanted for my Valentine was always wooing someone else.” He squeezes Bucky’s hand.

“I was blind. Stupid and blind.” Couldn’t even see the ocean.

“No. No, you weren’t. I was too chickenshit to tell you. Scared you’d reject me. Scared about what might happen if word got out. Just scared.”

“A coward and a dummy. A perfect match.” Bucky chuckles. “Here,” he hands him the roses, “for my rosy Rogers.” Falsworth dubbed Steve that for the shade of red he turned when someone flirted with him.

“Oh,” Steve cradles them in his lap. “Thank you! For the flowers. Not for bringing back that nickname. Of all the things for you to remember,” he grumbles.

Bucky pecks him on his bright pink cheek. “Wait here. There’s more.” Bucky retrieves the bags.

“Oh my God! How much did you get?”

“I may have gone a little overboard.” It was a good thing the store didn’t sell diamonds. Bucky checked. “Here.” He tosses him the panda. Steve catches it and laughs.

“It’s so soft.”

Bucky throws the boxers to him.

“You expect me to wear these?”

“Yep. And I’ll wear these.” He holds up a matching pair with a rainbow background and maroon hearts.

“They’re the tackiest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Says the guy who regularly wears the American flag as a bodysuit.”

“I’ve been told it looks more like the Puerto Rican flag.”

Bucky laughs and hands over the rest of the loot. The chocolates and the card and the champagne and more roses and a plastic tiara that breaks instantly. All the finest crap a big box store can offer.

“Thank you. Thank you.” Steve pulls Bucky into his lap, positioning him on his good knee. “I love all of it. And I love you.” He presses a line of kisses into his cheek. “I have a gift for you too.” He wheels them to his drafting table, reaching between it and the wall. He pulls out a thin rectangle wrapped in tissue paper.

“I’ve been working on it after you went to bed. Haven’t had a lot of time. I should’ve waited for my arm to be stronger. I could do better—”

“Let me open it, would’ya?”

Bucky rips through the paper. It’s a watercolor portrait of his face reflected in a shiny chrome toaster. It’s not the face of the stupid over-confident kid that shipped out in ’41. The face he believed Steve was seeing whenever he looks like he wants to gobble him up. And it’s not the face Bucky is afraid he’ll see in the mirror. The vacant-eyed hollowed-out ghost with no name and even less hope. It’s him, Bucky, just as he is. His eyes hold some sadness but there’s a smile playing on his lips.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

Love might be an understatement. He feels… seen. Dammit if Steve didn’t make him feel like a queen for a day.

“You painted me with long hair,” Bucky says, still staring at the image.

“Uh-huh. Seemed right. I could do it over with short hair if you want.” Steve makes to take the painting back.

“Don’t you dare.” Bucky holds it out of his reach. “Do you want me to grow my hair out?”

“I want whatever you want. Long or short, if you’re happy with it I’m happy with it.”

“That’s a great answer but I asked for your opinion. Do you like it better short or long?”

“I like it long,” Steve looks away, ears turning as red as the roses at his feet.

“Good, so do I.”

* * *

- _Bucky-_

 

“Can I have more mac and cheese?” Loki asks, scraping the remaining cheese sauce from the bowl.

“Eat something green first,” Thor answers.

Loki sighs and gets up. “Green, green green,” they whisper, their head stuck in the fridge.

The Asgardians invited Bucky and Steve over for lunch as a thank you for Steve writing a character reference for Thor’s citizenship application. Bucky felt a pang of guilt watching Steve practically leap out of the wheelchair at the prospect of leaving the house for something other than a doctor’s appointment. Even if that thing was eating boxed macaroni at a nearly identical house. Bucky should’ve noticed the cabin fever sooner. He’ll have to plan some outings for them.

Loki returns to the table with a bag of grapes and a jar of pickles.

“Yes?” they ask.

“Yes.” Thor nods then turns back to Steve. “I’m waiting on Bruce to finish his letter before I file the application. Jennifer says the letters from you and Ms. Streep are probably enough, but Bruce—”

“You got a letter from Meryl Streep?” Steve interrupts. Bucky isn’t sure who that is, maybe a high-up in SHIELD?

“She’s a fan,” Thor shrugs. "Nice lady.”

A tapping sound comes from the window over the sink.

“He found us,” Steve groans.

“Go away, Mean Cat. You weren’t invited,” Bucky says.

The cat whines.

“No.” Bucky shakes his head. “You’re not allowed in this house either.”

“Why can’t the cat come in?” Loki asks, wrapping a grape in a thin slice of pickle.

“He snuck into our place a few days ago and tried to eat the uh…” Steve’s brows knit as he hunts for the word. He squeezes Bucky’s hand.

“Wi-fi router,” Bucky supplies.

“Right, that thing. He knocked over four potted plants before we chased him out.”

It’s been two months since the accident. Nearly all of his injuries have completely healed, the exceptions being the shattered kneecap and the head injury. He’s still in the wheelchair except for a few hours of very gentle physical therapy a day. And he’s still forgetting things. Words mostly, but other small details. At least he’s not forgetting entire conversations anymore. The neurologist says it’s not time to worry yet, but Bucky finds it very hard not to worry. Worrying about Steve is practically his life’s work.

Mean Cat slaps at the window again. Since Bucky stopped sleeping in the RV, Mean Cat has become obsessed with entering the house.

“If you’re bored go back to the RV,“ Bucky says. The cat throws his head back and yowls. “I don’t see how that’s my problem, Mean Cat.”

The cat stays at the window as they finish eating, mewling pathetically every few minutes. After lunch, they adjourn to the living room.

“Do you want to read the letter from Meryl?” Thor asks.

“Oh yeah, please,” Steve says. Bucky decides she must not be SHIELD brass, Steve seems too impressed. Thor opens a portfolio of documents. He hands the letter to Steve. Loki grabs the portfolio and dumps the rest of the documents onto the floor. Thor closes his eyes and exhales. Loki spreads the papers out on the rug.

Bucky can’t resist leaning in for a closer look. They’re gorgeous, like illuminated manuscripts from the Middle Ages, but the illustrations ripple like the surface of a reflecting pool.

“You sure have a lot of records for someone born on another planet,” he says.

“We were lucky. Asgardian vital records are designed to be easily transportable. _Someone_ decided to steal the entire archive from the vault while the planet was exploding.”

Loki points at themself.

“Which came in handy when we established the settlement in Norway.” Thor acknowledges. “We were all documented aliens.”

“You _are_ lucky,” Steve says. “I had a hell of a time getting an ID after I woke up. Turns out my original birth certificate is in the Library of Congress. Coulson helped me get a certified copy.”

Bucky has no idea where any of his documents ended up.

“Thor?” Loki squints at a scroll. “Do we have another sibling?”

“Not that I know of,” Thor answers.

“Then who is Balder Odinson, Prince of Asgard?”

“Oh, me. I am,” says Thor.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. That’s my name.”

“Your name is Thor,” Loki insists.

“It is now. But our parents named me Balder.”

“Balder? I hate it!” Loki scowls.

Thor laughs. “I don’t like it either but that’s what it says on my birth decree. Technically, it’s my name.”

“If your name is Balder, why are you called Thor?” Bucky asks.

“That was this one’s doing.” Thor ruffles Loki’s hair.

“What do you mean my doing?”

“When you were very little and just learning to talk you couldn’t say ‘brother’ properly. Whenever you saw me, you held up your arms and yelled ‘buh-thor! buh-thor!’ It was adorable, frankly. After a while, you dropped the ‘buh.’”

“I don’t remember that.”

“You were too young to remember.”

“If your name isn’t really Thor, is my name really Loki?”

“Well, I don’t know if your Jotun parents gave you a name but Mother and Father talked about naming you Bragi before settling on Loki.”

“Bragi?” Loki repeats. “I hate it.”

They’re interrupted by an earsplitting meow. Mean Cat stands on his hind feet at the sliding glass doors, front paws drumming against the window. “Sorry, I’ll get rid of him.”

Bucky goes outside. The cat darts away from the window, to greet him.

“Seriously? Do I have to change your name to Drama Cat?”

The cat drops onto his back, belly displayed.

“If I rub your belly, will you give us some peace?”

The cat wiggles in the snow.

“Fine, don’t be a dick, okay?”

Bucky gets on his knees and rubs the belly. They have made great strides in the last few weeks. Mean Cat has mostly stopped biting unless he feels threatened. The cat grabs Bucky’s elbow between its paws.

“Are you thinking about biting me? Be cool, Mean Cat,” Bucky pauses. A tear runs down his cheek.

“Sarge?”

Bucky looks up. Gabe Jones stands in front of him, waiting for an answer.

“What?”

“Do we go in or not?” Jones repeats.

“Uh, yeah we go in.” Bucky looks back at the snow. Nothing there. There was an animal, wasn’t there? He nods at his men. “Stay alert. Don’t trust the cover—” He wipes at his eyes. Something is making them water like crazy.

He blinks at the trees. His battalion must have left him behind. Shit, that’s—

“James!” his grandmother barks. Bucky stiffens. “What do you think you’re about? Playing outside, when you should be watching your sisters.” Her Scottish accent lilts in his ear.

“Sorry, mam.” Bucky sniffs and wipes his nose on his mitten.

“And where is your hat, young man?”

“Lost it,” he mutters.

“Sergeant Barnes?” The silver-haired man gasps. The Asset doesn’t know that name. There’s usually more pleading. The asset doesn’t understand why his face is wet. He raises his arm to hit the man again.

A sharp pain digs into his fist.

“Ow!” Bucky pulls his hand away, blood trickling from a bite mark. “Mean Cat?”

The cat leaps away. Did that happen? He saw— he’s losing his grip again? He’s shaking and tears stream from his eyes. Mean Cat runs back to the glass, his back arches, the fur bristling. He hisses.

Something is very wrong. Bucky creeps to the window. Steve is staring out the window, but his eyes are unfocused and glassy. His cheeks are wet. Thor seems to be in the same state. And Loki— Loki is hiding under the couch. Eyes wide with fear, but awake and alert. They spot Bucky and put their finger to their lips.

They mouth something. It could be “help.”

Bucky reaches to open the patio door but Loki shakes their head emphatically. This time the word is clearly “hide.”

The door to the kitchen cracks open Bucky backs out of the line of sight.

“Where did you go, little brother?” A woman’s voice coos. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just taking you home.”

That can’t be good. Whoever that is must be the cause of Bucky’s visions. And is probably doing the same to Steve and Thor. Possibly the whole compound. It’s eerily quiet.

“You can’t hide, little Odinson. You don’t belong here. You belong with the dead. I’ll take you to them. Come with Hela.”

Hela, that’s what Loki was saying. Hela, their sister. The one who destroyed a whole planet. Is Bucky the only one not under her spell? Okay, he has to do this by himself. Bucky prepares himself to charge.

He can still hear Hela trying to coax Loki to come to her, but she sounds impatient. There’s a quiet, childish yelp, and a cackle of triumph. _Shit_. Okay, charging in won’t work. She’d hurt Loki before he gets near her. What can he do? And why is he the only—Mean Cat. Mean Cat bit him and the shock woke him up. He just has to figure out how to wake the others.

Bucky grapples for his phone in his pocket.

“STARK!” he hisses under his breath.

“Yel—”

“Shut up and listen.” Bucky interrupts. “Access the emergency cameras inside Thor’s.”

There’s a split-second pause.

“That ain't good,” STARK responds.

“I’ve got an idea.”

Bucky runs it by the AI as fast as he can.

“Yeah, that might work. I’ve got a suggestion though.”

Bucky approves it. He risks taking a look into the room. A tall figure with long lank hair stands with her back to him, holding a struggling Loki.

The Iron Man armor arrives in less than thirty seconds. STARK tosses Steve’s shield to Bucky then hovers outside the front door.

“Attention, Morticia. Put the kid down or else!” STARK says on the suit’s loudest setting.

She turns toward the sound, giving Bucky the opening to slide open the patio door and throw the shield at her head. She grunts and drops Loki. Another armor, one of the nano-tech versions forms around the child.

The goddess of death lunges at Bucky. He doesn’t have time to dodge and takes the hit. They both go through the plate-glass, landing hard in the snow.

With Loki out of harm’s way and Hela in the open, STARK blasts her with the gauntlets. It doesn’t seem to hurt her much but gets her off of Bucky.

“Sprinklers!” Bucky shouts.

“You got it!” Bucky gets on his elbows confirming that the fire sprinklers inside the house have turned on. Thor stomps outside, one eye blazing with blue light.

“WHERE IS LOKI?” He bellows as lightning crackles overhead.

“Here!” The tiny suit zips by above him.

Startled and soggy Avengers emerge from the houses and run into the fray. Bucky lets the others take it from here. He runs back inside. The wheelchair is stuck behind an overturned side table so Steve has launched himself out of the chair and picked up the shield. He’s trying to join the fight on one leg which is possibly the most Steve thing he’s ever done. His face is ashen and he looks like he might pass out.

“Sit your ass down, Rogers! They’ve got this.” Bucky scoops Steve up and deposits him in the wheelchair. “So help me, If you fucked up your leg permanently, pulling that stunt—”

Bucky takes the shield and covers them both. He wheels Steve away from the scuffle.

“Buck, we have to help.”

“It’s under control, Steve.” Bucky uses the shield to deflect a projectile that looks like it came from the goddess’s body.

“But—”

A circle of light opens up in the air. Doctor Strange steps through.

“I don’t think so, lady!” Strange shouts. Red bands of energy shoot from his wildly gesticulating hands and envelope the shrieking Asgardian villain. In moments she is bound head to foot.

“Took you long enough,” STARK yells.

“I was in another dimension!” Strange retorts. “I’m a very busy man!”

“Did everybody see that? The arrow in her Achilles tendon?” Barton shouts. “Who’s pointless now? Still me, probably.” He shrugs.

Strange takes Hela away to interrogate her. Order does not return very quickly. It takes Thor thirty minutes of shouting and pleading to get Loki to land and remove the armor. Other than a little water damage, only Thor and Loki’s house needs serious repair. Bruce offers to let them stay with him for the time being. Thor explains who she was, though he doesn’t know why Hela chose this moment to collect Loki for the dead.

“She rules Hell?” Wanda asks, visibly upset. “I saw my brother. Pietro isn’t in Hell. I don’t believe it.”

“It’s not Hel as you think of it. And the people you saw were just echoes. Not their true spirits.”

Bucky wheels Steve home. He doesn't have the energy to stop Mean Cat from slinking through the door with them. Bucky gets an ice-pack from the freezer and applies it to Steve’s knee.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” Steve winces.

“You really shouldn’t have, but you wouldn’t be you if you hadn’t.” Bucky sighs.

“Buck, when she arrived, did you see anyone? Anyone dead?”

“My grandmother. A few others. You?”

“My mother. Peggy. Tony. It was… I wanted them to stay. It felt like chasing something and being trapped at the same time.”

“Yeah.” Bucky nods. Steve smiles and takes his hand, like he’s reassuring himself that Bucky is really there. “I’m proud of you, Buck.”

“Of me?”

“You kept your head. Came up with a good plan. No casualties, barely any injuries. You have what it takes to be an Avenger, officially. If that’s something you’re interested in. It’s okay if it’s not.”

“Huh. I… I’ll think about it.” It had felt good to be of use.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word on the Balder thing. I thought of the "buh - Thor" thing a while back and have been looking for a way to include it in the story. But it meant coming up with an alternate name for Thor. In Norse mythology, Balder is another son of Odin. He is the most beloved of the gods, and Odin's favorite child. It felt like a natural fit. However some of my beta readers objected because Balder is a separate character in the Thor comics. They have not used the character in the the movies (and probably never will). I suspect that was to keep from complicating Thor and Loki's relationship/rivalry with another sibling (Hela not withstanding). The MCU canon diverges from the comics in significant ways. For example, Frigga is Thor's stepmother in the comics not his biological mother as it's heavily implied she is in the movies. And Hela is not Odin's child in the comics but Loki's. Because of those changes I took the liberty of making Thor both Thor and Balder in my version of the MCU.
> 
> In other news, I think this story will be wrapping up in two more chapters.


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